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sprout-fics · 9 months

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I keep thinking about the way people write Ghost as a Dom.

There’s a tendency in the x reader part of this fandom to write CoD men as very dominant, kinky, rough, degrading kind of personas. I like the idea of a dominant character about as much as the next smut writer, but I’ve noticed a tendency for folks to really lean into this, and make characters (mostly Ghost) almost malicious in his sex acts. It sits wrong with me because Simon is a victim of some pretty horrific sexual assault in his original comics, and also someone we see who has compassion and tries extremely hard to distance himself from his traumatic past.

However, I also feel like there is a way for Ghost to be involved in dominancy and kink without it being completely antithetical to his character. This is my personal interpretation, trying to closely keep in mind Simon’s past, and you are free to disagree with it. However I think the idea of Simon finding kink/dominancy as a way of reclaiming his sexuality after his trauma is deeply fascinating, and worth exploring.

(TW: Discussions of consent violation and sexual trauma)

Ghost experienced sexual assault in his comics tied to the original series, for those of you who may not know. I’ll spare the details, as I’ve been over this several times before. Like many sexual assault survivors, he has nightmares from his time being tortured. It’s pretty easy to conclude from this that Simon has a complicated relationship with sex. I adore soft Simon, I think the pieces of Simon getting emotional during very tender sex are some of my favorites. I also think there’s layers to character interpretation.

It’s not uncommon for survivors of trauma, sexual or otherwise, to try and use kink as an emotional and physical outlet to work through severe emotions. Kink offers a safe, controlled context for sexual trauma survivors to reclaim sexual confidence and comfort. While sexual trauma like assault is a non-consensual seizure of power and dominance, power exchange in a safe, kinky setting can be a consensual, healthy practice to reframe sexual trauma. Kink centers and emphasizes communication and consent which are vital tenets of any healthy sex. (Source)

For Simon, what happened to him was a complete lack of control which led to physical, emotional, and psychological harm. So, for me, it makes complete sense he would approach kink/BDSM practices through the lens of dominance, where the exchange is focused on retaining control rather than the surrender of control. Personally, I think Simon would be very very hard pressed to ever be a sub, and would only consider it with someone who he trusts with not just his life, but his mental well-being, which for him is a very challenging task.

The idea of Simon being involved in kink related dominancy (Side note, there’s is a difference between someone saying they like to be dominant in bed vs identifying as a ‘Dom’, which I see many many writers make the mistake of) can, to me, be seen as a safe way to explore sex following the events in the comics. Responsible Doms hold consent sacred, and know that partners invest a significant amount of trust in them to keep them safe during kink related activities, sexual or otherwise. It isn’t uncommon for BDSM dynamics to form ‘contracts’ that outline things that are completely off the table. Safewords are an absolute must, and must be respected at all times.

Note: Dominancy =/= Rough, degrading, hair pulling sex. Dominancy can be deeply psychological, in learning your partner’s mannerisms, wants, desires, and most importantly their triggers.

There’s often very definitively laid out boundaries between partners, and it goes both ways. Ex: you may not like being called degrading names. For Simon (In my personal opinion) I think this involves a refusal to bottom, being restrained, and other things that may invoke triggers related to his trauma. A lot of concepts revolving around BDSM ( (SSC) Safe, Sane, Consensual / (RACK) Risk-Aware Sexual Kink) emphasize and hold accountability for both partners to communicate clearly with each other and respect these clearly set boundaries while being aware of the acts they are involved in.

I think this sense of rules, consent, guidelines, contracts, and boundaries of how to participate in kink is fairly relieving for Simon. It provides a clear framework of how to approach his partners and ensure both their safety and his own. I feel like Simon is very hesitant about the idea of dominance, because he often fears perpetuating behaviors his abusers committed against him. So this covenant of etiquette towards partners provides a much needed structure for him to work in. If he’s a man of routine (which personally, I like to think so. He’s in the military, which tends to do that to you) and it is deeply relieving for him, because it acts almost like a boundary that prevents him from abusing his partners. So Simon doing research into BDSM/Kink etiquette is totally feasible in my mind, especially when we take into a concept of him using largely agreed upon guidelines and suggestions to allow him space to reclaim his sexuality without it turning into a victim to abuser scenario. (There’s also room to be explored regarding Ghost and protocol based BDSM dynamics within this same vein, but that’s a different essay)

(Another side note: It is easy for abusers to take advantage of victims by concealing themself behind being a Dom. However, this is why concepts such as contracts, SSC, and RACK exist, to help mitigate instances of this. If you are interested in these types of dynamics, please please do some responsible research to know how to spot people like this)

There’s a lot of nuance to this idea. However, I have seen some AMAZING fics explore this concept of Simon being a responsible Dom while also keeping in mind he is a deeply complicated person with a complex history. Simon’s sexual assault does not define his character, but it is an important facet to it considering that the trauma of his torture formed him into the character we are introduced to- a man who burned his past but continues to carry it with him in the form of a mask designed to separate himself from others.

Here’s some fic recs that explore or touch on this topic, thanks for reading:

Surviving You - WhisperedWords12: SoapGhost BDSM AU that provides a great understanding of consensual dynamics, contracts, consent, subdrop/domdrop, and touches on how irresponsible dominant partners can leave lasting, scarring impressions on their partners

Exfilitration - Vedettare: Similar concept in that Ghost assists Soap through subdrop, and realizes he may be poorly handling the way he engages in his and Soap’s dynamic, which he tries to rectify (Ongoing)

Mine and Yours - Artemis_Neardos: Again, SoapGhost, simultaneously explores Ghost as a Dom as well as his relationship with his trauma, and does a very good job doing so. Bonus: Dom/Sub AleRudy. This series involves under negotiated kink at the beginning, which improves later. Mind the tags

Disclaimer: I am not an expert in this area. I am relaying things I have learned. I encourage you, if you are interested, to do your own research and read critically the things that are available to you. Never engage with partners who do not respect your consent

#simon ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mw2022

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hotchs-bitch · 24 days

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The List || A. Hotchner x Fem!Reader

summary: you and Aaron check off a few new boxes.

kinks: D/s, daddy kink, threesome, mistress kink, praise kink, degradation, thigh riding

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader, emily prentiss x reader

content/warnings: in case it wasn’t clear SMUT 18+ CONTENT MINORS DNI

wordcount: 3.5k

You’ve been dating Aaron for a few years now, so you like to think you’re something of an expert on all things Hotchner. There are plenty of people, your coworkers included, who think he’s all work and no play. That simply isn’t true. At work, yes, he’s a stark professional, to his core. But they don’t see him at home, playing with his son and basking in the domestic glow the three of you have created in your little apartment. And they certainly don’t see the type of play the two of you get up to, either.

One of the tenets of Aaron’s work/play separation was that work stayed in the office. He had a home office, for when he needed it, but even there– nothing BAU-related got past the threshold. When he was home, he was home for you and for his son— work would wait as long as it reasonably could. So when you see him flipping through some paperwork in bed, you’re admittedly confused.

“Whatcha doing?” You ask, pure curiosity in your tone.

“I was just looking over the list. It’s been a while since we did these, I thought it might be worth taking another peek at,” he explains, looking at you over the readers you had bought for him a year ago, that he valiantly resisted for three months before finally admitting that they helped.

He’s talking about your kink lists, which explains why he’s made it out of the office. Just shy of a year into your relationship, you’d broached the subject of introducing a dynamic into your sex lives, just to see if you liked it. Aaron had agreed, but insisted on doing his own, extensive research beforehand. He, admittedly, was wary about the idea of hurting you– even in a consensual way— and wanted to make sure he was fully prepared, both for him and for you. So he’d presented both of you with lists— you checked off things you knew you liked, things you thought you might want to try, and things you definitely didn’t want to do.

“Why don’t you check yours, too,” he says, passing you your copy of the list. “Make sure it all still looks accurate. We’ve tried a lot of this stuff, so if you don’t actually like it—”

“Aaron, you know I’d tell you if I didn’t. I’d safeword if I needed to, or I’d tell you after the scene if I didn’t. You wouldn’t hurt me and I wouldn’t let you,” you remind him.

“I’d still like you to look. Maybe things we haven’t tried that sounded appealing then, don’t now. Or maybe you’ve found that you like things more than you thought you would. It’s all good to know,” he encourages you.

You agree, climbing into bed and taking the paper and pen that he’d offered. You move some maybes that you had tried into the solid yes column, and a couple into the no column, too, but there aren’t any major changes. After a few minutes, you switch, and you find Aaron’s form to be more or less the same. You’re not surprised, really— You and Aaron have an open line of communication. There were no surprises.

“So, I was thinking I might surprise you,” Aaron pipes up. You stand corrected.

“Oh?” You say.

“You’ve been working your ass off lately, between the team and the Academy Trainee course Strauss pulled you for,” he explains. “I wanted to do something fun for you. I noticed you still had ‘experience with two or more partners’ and ‘experience with a same-sex partner’ checked off as things you’d like to try…” he trails off nervously, and you can tell just by looking at him that he’s wondering if he should beg the floor to swallow him whole rather than continue this conversation.

“That would be a very special gift,” you agree with a smile, putting him out of his misery. “But who? I don’t necessarily want to bring a stranger into the apartment,” you say.

“You can say no, and we can never talk about it again,” he assures you. “But I was thinking… maybe Emily?”

You mull it over for a moment, taking Aaron’s hand in your own to let him know that you’re thinking, not shocked into silence. You… kind of like the idea of it. “Have you talked to her about it at all?”

“Not about joining us,” he says, and his phrasing is specific. You know him too well for that.

“But you’ve talked to her about… our dynamic?” You ask, confused. It’s not your real question— you know he’d never tell someone else about this without asking you, first.

“No, no,” he corrects. “That case a few months back, where the men were all bound— she floated the idea privately with me that the unsub may be a dominatrix, and it came up naturally, that she’s… similarly minded.”

“But with less murder,” you joke.

“Like I said, we can pretend I never even brought it up.”

“No!” You correct a little too quickly, making Aaron chuckle. “I want to. You can ask her about it.”

“I will,” he says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Anything for you.”

+++++++

Emily says yes the next day when Hotch asks her about it. It’s the waiting that’s torture. It’s two whole weeks before the three of you find a day that works for everyone– and if you thought that was bad, the hours leading up to it were even worse.

You’re on edge the whole day— you’re nervous, yes, but it’s an excited kind of nervous, like the moments after you pull the safety harness down on a roller coaster. You plod around the house all afternoon, tidying things that don’t need to be tidied and wiping down the countertops, mopping the floor, baking a banana bread just to do something with your hands.

You nearly jump when Aaron wraps his arms around you from behind. “Go take a bath and ground yourself, my love. Use your fancy bubbles and take some deep breaths. I left you something to wear, it’s hanging up on the back of the bathroom door. Emily will be here in a bit. Would you like to sit with us while I explain your limits to her, or do you want me to do it?”

“You can do it,” you tell him softly.

“Okay angel. Then you go on up, take your bath and put on the pretty outfit Daddy got you, and sit at the foot of the bed and wait for us, okay?”

“Okay, daddy. Thank you.”

He smiles, giving you a quick kiss. “Nothing to thank me for. See you in a little bit.”

You go upstairs and see that Aaron has already drawn the bath for you, and has set out your favorite soaps and bubble bath and a fluffy, warm towel. You sink into the warm bath, and let yourself soak, focusing on your breathing. It helps. Once you feel ready, you drain the tub and look over to the lingerie Aaron had bought for you. It’s a lacy red bodysuit, and it’s crotchless. You get yourself good and dry before slipping into it, not wanting the delicate material to get caught on your wet skin. Once you’re dressed, you go into the bedroom and kneel at the foot of the bed the way you normally would if you were playing with just Aaron. You can hear the two of them talking, laughing, even, as you sit and wait for them.

Your anticipation builds the longer you listen to them– are they still talking about limits? Are they plotting– deciding what toys they’ll use, how they’ll tease you, when they’ll let you come? You can feel yourself getting turned on the longer you sit and think about it— you wonder if that’s part of their plan, too.

You snap back to attention when you hear footsteps coming up the staircase, straightening your spine and turning your gaze towards the floor.

The door swings open— you don’t move. You know better.

“Aw, she’s so cute,” Emily cooes. You feel warmth rise to your cheeks, try to bite down on your smile.

“Kitten, why don’t you say hello to our guest?”

You look up now, at Aaron. “What should I call her, Daddy?”

Aaron looks to Emily, who answers. “You have such good manners, sweet girl. You can call me Mistress.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you for coming,” you tell her with a smile. Looking her in the eyes for the first time makes this feel a hundred times more real, and you can tell that when they finally touch you, you’ll be soaked.

“Thank you for inviting me,” she smiles. “I understand that you and your daddy have a lot of fun together. I’m excited to have some fun with you, too.”

“Come here, kitten,” Aaron beckons, and you oblige him, crawling a few paces across the carpet and coming to sit next to his left hand. He runs a hand through your hair.

“Ladies first,” Aaron smirks, looking over to Emily.

Emily crouches down, nearly eye-to-eye with you, but she’s still a bit taller. She traces a finger down your cheekbone and the column of your neck, over your shoulder, sneering a little at the goosebumps that appear in the wake of her gentle touch. She pinches your nipple through the fabric of your lingerie, and you gasp a little, not expecting the sensation.

“Hmm,” Emily murmurs a contented little noise at your reaction, not letting up on her grip. “A good pinch, or a bad pinch?” She checks in.

“A good pinch, Mistress,” you assure her through gritted teeth.

She smiles. “Good,” she says, reaching for the other nipple, rolling it between her thumb and index finger. She gives them both a sharp pull, causing you to cry out, before she stands back up.

“That’s it?’Aaron scoffs.

“We have the whole night ahead of us,” Emily reminds him. “I’d take advantage while I’m still in a sharing mood.”

He rolls his eyes goodnaturedly, pulling you to your feet. “The thing about my sweet little slut, is that you don’t even need to touch anything significant to turn her into a mess,” he informs Emily as he uses his big hands to spread your thighs apart. You suddenly remember that your panties are crotchless, and tense up, worried that you’ll drip on the carpet before you’ve even begun. For his part, Aaron seems determined to make this happen— he kisses his way up your thighs, sucking at the tender flesh nearest where you were practically pulsing for him, but intentionally ignoring any action that would provide you with any relief. You take in a sharp little breath, trying not to whine.

“That’s it. I can smell you, already. You like that, don’t you, angel?” He whispers against your skin.

“Yes, Daddy,” you answer breathlessly.

“I know, I know,” he says sympathetically as he rises to his feet. “But not yet,” he whispers before sucking a bruise into your neck.

“Let’s move this party over to the bed, shall we?” Emily says, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the mattress, stripping herself of her pants and her top. Aaron follows suit, losing all of his clothes and climbing on top of the mattress, giving his cock a few cursory strokes, spreading out the precum that had gathered at his tip. Emily gestures to her thigh, and you straddle it accordingly.

“Why don’t you tell me more about your daddy, angel?” Emily encourages you as her fingers sink into the flesh of your thigh and pull, encouraging you to rock against her.

You oblige, riding her thigh as you speak. “I love my daddy. He takes very good care of me,” you say as you rock against her once, readjusting to try and find a better angle for your clit. “He reminds me to drink water and take care of myself,” you continue rocking and find the place where your clit rubs up against her thigh in just the right way, moaning a little. “And he always reminds me that I’m his good little slut. He loves to make me cum,” you say, your humping gaining intensity, causing you to moan a little “Oh, and I love to make him come too,” you say, chasing your release against her.

“How do you like to make Daddy come?’ Emily asks, pushing your hair out of your face where it’s sticking to your sweat.

“I like to take his cock in my mouth,” you moan. “I like feeling him all the way down my throat. Oh, Mistress, may I come?” You ask as your rocking against her grows more frantic.

‘Not yet, baby. It’s too early,” she cooes. “Keep going. I heard Daddy call you a name earlier, do you like that? Do you like when we call you pathetic little names?”

“Yes, Mistress. I like to be called a needy little whore, or Daddy’s desperate slut.” You cry out.

“Oh, you are a desperate slut, aren’t you? Trying to come on Mistress’s thigh,”

“Yes, yes, I’m a desperate slut,” you agree, hoping your acquiescence will earn you an orgasm.

“Good girl. Stop,” she orders, and you hold back your sigh, not wanting to be punished. You step away from her, get back into your kneeling position on the floor. From your new vantage point, you can see Aaron– he’s been stroking his cock, watching you and Emily. He’s erect and slick, and you’ve never wanted him in your mouth more. You’re practically drooling.

“Kitten, you’ve made quite the mess of my thigh,” Emily tuts.

“I’m sorry Mistress. May I clean up my mess?”

“Of course, go ahead,” She grants you permission, and you begin to lick your own arousal off of her. Her skin is so soft, and she smells so nice, that you start to get lost in it, mouthing at her long after is necessary, until you feel a tug at your scalp.

“Don’t get distracted, kitten. Daddy’s waiting for you,” Emily reminds you, gesturing to the other side of the bed. You crawl over, looking at Aaron with glassy eyes.

“Daddy, may I suck your cock, please?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Aaron says, extending two fingers, which you greedily pull into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down on them and taking them as deep as you can manage for a few moments until Aaron pulls them away.

“Come on up, angel,” Aaron says, pulling you into bed. “Go ahead,” he grants you permission, and you settle between his legs, licking the underside of his cock and looking up at him as you do so.

As soon as you have as much of Aaron as you can take in your mouth, you feel two fingers sink inside of you– Emily’s, you realize with a moan.

“Thank you, mistress,” you warble out without removing Aaron’s cock from your mouth.

“Focus angel. Mistress had her turn, now Daddy wants you all to himself. Don’t get distracted.”

“Yes, daddy,” you answer, refocusing your efforts on him, Even as Emily makes you squirm and whimper under her touch.

“Your pussy is so tight, sweet girl. Does Mistress make you feel good?”

“Yes, mistress, feels so good,” you answer, but as soon as you do, you feel a sharp spank to your backside.

“Focus, slut. Don’t make me remind you again,” Aaron says.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you say, taking him in your mouth again.

You’re content for a few moments, but when Emily removes her fingers from inside of you, you can’t help but whine.

“I’m feeling neglected, here. Kitten, why don’t you lay back against the pillows,” Emily encourages, and you look up at Aaron for permission, which he grants with a simple nod, getting up and taking one of his pillows with him.

“Lift your hips,” He tells you as Emily comes to the head of the bed.

Aaron slides a pillow underneath you just as Emily comes to straddle your face. “Mistress and Daddy want to come, angel, and then you can, okay?” Emily explains.

“Yes, Mistress,” you say, craning your neck up to kiss her entrance.

“Good girl, go ahead,” she tells you, lowering herself down towards you. You mouth at her with purpose, trying to remember all of the tricks you like best when Aaron does them on you, paying attention to which maneuvers make her tense up and cry out.

A few moments later, you feel Aaron’s cock sink into you, and your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head– you feel so deliciously full, not to mention how thoroughly fucked you had been throughout the evening. You felt… saturated, in the best way. Each one of your senses was laser-focused on pleasure. You were so grateful to Aaron for doing this for you– the thought motivated you, had you kicking it into high gear with Emily.

“Oh, good girl. You’re going to make Mistress come. You’re going to make me so happy. Don’t stop, angel. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t— fuck!” She cries out as she reaches her peak, her pleasure overwhelming you.

“Good girl. You did such a good job, you made mistress so happy,” Emily cooes breathlessly as she gets off of you, not wanting to suffocate you when she collapses against the mattress to catch her breath. She leans in, starts to kiss your neck. “Where’d you learn to do that, sweet girl? Is my perfect angel a little slut?” she asks, mouthing at any exposed skin she can reach.

“Yes, Mistress, I’m a little slut,” you agree.

“Who’s slut?” Aaron booms as he pounds into you.

“Your slut, Daddy. I’m your slut,” you amend.

“That’s right, kitten. Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You, daddy, my slutty pussy belongs to you!” You cry out as he taps your clit, and it sends him over the edge. He keeps pumping in and out of you as he comes, and Emily reaches down to your clit, rubbing at it.

“Go ahead, come. You earned it, baby, come.”

“Daddy?” You cry out, wanting to make sure you have permission.

“Yes, angel. Come for Daddy, my perfect girl. You did so good.”

You careen over the edge at his praise, arching your back and letting out a moan that turns into a cry. You’d been on edge for so long— before Emily had even arrived today, and it made the relief that much more gratifying.

“Thank you,” you pant out as you come back down to Earth.

“Give her a minute to settle,” Aaron warns Emily– the two of you had learned that rushing into aftercare could be a little overwhelming, so Aaron usually gave you a moment to catch your breath before he touched you.

“You did such a good job, my sweet girl. I’m so proud of you,” Aaron whispers gently. “When you’re ready, I want you to sit up for me, okay my love?”

You nod a little, taking another few deep breaths and scooting up towards the mattress.

“Good,” he whispers. “I will be right back,” he says, climbing off the mattress and leaving the room momentarily.

“Did you have fun?” Emily asks quietly, screwing the cap off of a bottle of water and handing it to you.

You gulp at it aggressively while you nod. “Yeah, I did. Did you?”

“Careful, you’ll get a stomachache,” she warns. “I had fun, but this was a treat for you.”

“Still. It’s only fun if everyone’s having fun,” you remind her. “Would you… want to do it again sometime?” She asks, feeling bold.

“Yeah. You should talk to Aaron first, though,” Emily says.

“Talk to Aaron about what?” He comes back to the room with a plate of fruit and a damp washcloth, sounding concerned.

“Nothing, baby. Later,” you assure him, and he gives you a little look that lets you know that he’s holding you to it.

“Alright, angel. You need to eat something, and I need to clean you up,” he says, handing you the plate and bringing the washcloth between your thighs. You extend the plate towards Emily, and she takes a strawberry, popping it between her lips as you bite down into a crunchy apple slice.

“Em, you should feel free to stay, if—” Aaron starts, but she cuts him off.

“I’d love to, but I can’t. Sergio is a very lonely boy,” she explains. “But this was a lot of fun. Thank you both for inviting me,” she says, kissing you both on the forehead as she dresses and packs up her stuff. Aaron insists on walking her to the door and watching her get into her car, as if she didn’t have a handgun in her purse and enough combat training to take out half of Northern Virginia. You’re snuggled up against his pillow when he returns, and he smiles.

“You had fun, angel?” He asks as he climbs into bed, pulling you into his chest.

“Of course I did. This whole thing just begs the question…” you start, trailing off.

“Begs what question?” Aaron asks.

“Who are we going to invite over to check off those boxes for you?”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #hotch x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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murdrdocs · 1 year

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(NSFW) stepsister with virgin!ethan landry PA LEASE🖤

he stalks her.he likes calling her dumb and pretty.ADD ANYTHING YOU’RE COMFORTABLE WITH🖤

YUPPP no smut just plot :)

He’s so condescending. So mean, he thinks he’s better than you, only because he just happens to be a few months older. “Sibling superiority. You do what I say,” he’s told you many, many, times. Each time, you roll your eyes and flip him off, secretly feeling giddy at the way he smiles at you afterwards.

You remember when your mom told you about Wayne, you felt indifferent. You were gonna go off to college incredibly soon, nothing would change about your household for now. Sure, holiday’s would be slightly different, but nothing you couldn’t handle. Until Wayne told you that both of his children would also be going to Blackmore University.

Until you merged houses and saw just how different life with the Baileys was going to be.

There was only maybe two weeks between moving in with the Baileys, and move in day. And those two weeks were spent sharing glances with Ethan that were too heavy to be familial.

The way he treated you was so … off. Eyeing you with a heavy gaze as you walked around the house in shorts, watching you during family dinners, offering to take you places that one time your car was in the shop whenever you could’ve sworn that he hated you. He was so back and forth, such a hypocrite, spewing insults at you and then hanging out in your room afterwards.

“You’re such a dumb little girl. Not a single thought in your head.”

“Too busy worrying about looking pretty to even understand how the economy works, huh?”

And that same night you were a few paces to your bedroom when he was coming out, looking sheepish upon running into you.

“I … uh … left my charger in your room from the other night.”

“The night when you had nothing better to do than lay in my bed and watch Tenet with me?”

A curt nod and he was scurrying across the hall to his room. (You lost two pairs of underwear since that visit and you can’t figure out where they’ve gone to)

And when you get to Blackmore, you have hopes that he’ll leave you alone, hopefully you’ll peel off into different friend groups. But no such luck befalls upon you, since you, Quinn, and Ethan all wind up in the same friend group.

You swear he’s following you. There’s been many times that you’ve checked your Life360 to find where Mindy was, and Ethan’s icon is entirely too close to you, especially when you know he has a class on the other side of the campus.

Annika makes a cruel joke that your new step brother has a crush on you. You laugh it off.

But you wouldn’t mind it.

#but stepbro :O #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry #scream 6 #scream 6 fanfic #celeste writes scream

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starysky1289 · 4 months

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PLEaSE ANSWER MY REQUEST I’m begging…….

can I request a toxic stepsis Vanessa taking you in because Steve kicked you out and she’s supper in your business like having cameras everywhere in her apartment making you sleep with her in her bed smut ect….. please I’ve sent in a lot I know but I’m begging 🥲🥲🥲

Toxic!Stepsis!Vanessa X Reader. Kicked out.

TW: toxic relationship, dubcon, noncon.

“ I’m done with you! Get your shit and get out of my house! “

“ It’s not your house! It’s my mother’s! You have no say here!! “

You and William had been in a yelling match for a hour, and he finally broke. Your mother stayed out of it, she dint have any say on what he did

“ If you’re not out by tonight then I’ll drag you out of here. Now go! “

You couldn’t argue, you simply turned and ran up to your room. You were raged, but scared overall. Where would you go? You didn’t have any friends to spend a night at, and not enough money for a motel room, no family was close enough to go. As you folded up clothes you knew you only had one person to go to. Her.

You called Vanessa, putting her on speaker as you continued packing.

“ hello? “

“ h-hey..Vanessa…I need some help? “

You could hear her sighing, and hear a blinker go off. She must be driving.

“ what happened now y/n. I’m not made of money. “

“ William…d-dad kicked me out. I just need a place to stay till I can g-get a steady job. Will you please come pick me up..? “

Vanessa clicked her tounge, hearing her blinker go off again. She went silent for a bit, before she answered.

“ I’m comming Y/n. But don’t think that I’m just gonna do this without any form of payment. We’ll talk better when I get you. I’ll be there in 10. Love youuu “

“ yeah yeah..i love you too. “

You sighed, you knew she’d tell you that you’d have to beg a job, and pay rent or something. Maybe she’d make you be like an indentured servant to her. Whatever it was, it was a place to sleep.

*~*

Vanessa has got you, her dad was less than pleased, but she somehow got him to calm down. You had two backpacks of clothes and your stuff in the back. The ride was silent, you were scared to break the silence, you didn’t want her to yell.

“ living with me is a privilege. I own this apartment, I own the whole building, people pay me rent. “

“ arnt you a cop? Why do you need all this money?? “

“ because keeping the building in shape costs a lot. Not like you know anything about his to spend money. Now. When you live with me, you’ll obey my rules, and the tenets rules “

You groaned, but don’t argue with her. You couldn’t risk getting tossed out onto the street now.

“ I’m giving you a week to atleast get an interview down. And when you do have a job you’ll be paying a slight rent. Cause I’m sure you’ll be eating all my food and using my bathroom “

“..fine alright..anything else? “

“ yes. My room is laced with cameras, so if you think you can get away with anything you won’t be. If I find out you break anything I’m charging you for it. “

You stifle your groan again, simply just looking out your window. You had finally pulled up to the building, it was a big place, you had visited once before for a dinner. It was fancier on the window than out, she really was fixing it up.

“ oh, and last rule. You’ll be sleeping with me in my bed. All set? Let’s go in. “

You shot up out of your seat, rearing your head towards her. She was already out and heading inside. You quickly got out and grabbed your bags, following her inside.

“ what do you mean I’m sleeping with you?? “

“ I never said that. I said your sleep with me in my bed “

“ that’s the same fucking thing!! “

She didn’t answer you, and you followed her upstaires to the top level. She opened her door for you, and you waltzed in. The place was massive. With beautiful white walls and blue decor everywhere.

“ it’s the penthouse of the building. All the other rooms are about half this size. Who knows, maybe you’ll hold a job long enough to live in a open apartment “

“ it’s beautiful Vanessa….where can I put my stuff? “

“ I have a spare closet in my room I only use for clothes. You can put your bags in there. I’m starting dinner soon, you can help me out. Last thing sweetheart.“

You looked back over at her, as she fixed your hair by running her fingers through it.

“ when your here, your My property. I like to own my things, so when your under my roof, your mine. Am I understood? “

“ yes maam… “

“ good. When your done come help me cook.

You rolled your eyes slightly, and headed into the bedroom. It was certainly large enough for both of you, the bed was practically half the size of the room. You opened the closet, putting your bags in it, digging through one to find a small plush you had brought. It was a little ginger tabby cat, you carried it out and placed it in the empty bedside table.

You headed into the kitchen, watching Vanessa dig through the fridge. You akwardly waited for some form of instructions, you’d never really cooked with your mom, she always insisted on doing the cooking for you.

“ peel potatoes, there on the counter. And for fucks sake please don’t cut your finger off. Knifes are in the second draw near me “

You nodded, quickly shuffling to the draw. You pulled out a simple knife. You grabbed a potato , very gently rinsing it off, before carefully peeling the skin. Your movements were quick but cautious, as you moved onto the next potato.

“ mmm, not bad princess. Keep this up and maybe I’ll pay you too cook. “

“ nessy please…don’t call me that, we’re sisters. “

Vanessa came up behind you, gently grinding against your rear. You didn’t stop her, you hated to admit how good it felt.

“ Step, Sisters dear. Mm…god I could take a bite out of you…”

You moaned slightly, pushing back against Vanessa. She chuckled, walking back to her work. You finish up with your potatoes and sighed. Living with her would be great, just great.

*~*

“ Y/N did you really bring a stuffed animal? Out of everything you could bring you bring a toy? “

“ it reminds me of home. “

“ pathetic. “

You laid on your side of the bed, holding the cat close to you. Vanessa walked in from the bathroom, she was wearing a tight set of navy blue silk pajamas.

“ look at that, you still look like a cop even when you sleep. “

“ shut it. “

Vanessa laid besides you, spooning your back. Her arms were tightly wrapped around your waist as she nuzzled against you.

“ you need more cuddles princess? To get rid of that attitude~ “

“ leave me alone. “

Vanessa let out a ‘ Hmpf ‘ before rolling over. You snuggled into your plush, letting yourself drift asleep.

*~*

Vanessa’s fingers was burried into cunt, everything felt warm and fuzzy as you thrusted yourself against her hands.

“ n-nessy…nessy m-more…”

Vanessa mouth moved, but not a single word came out. You blinked slightly, trying to make out her face, before feeling yourself being shook awake.

“ dreaming about something sweeteheart? “

“ A-ah! Vanessa! What the hell!!

You finally gained knowledge of what happened, you had dreamed about her, another wet dream about you stepsister. You groaned, laying head down into the pillow.

“ you sounded like you where having fun. ‘ more Vanessa~ I need more~ ‘ I must of been fucking you good huh~? “

“ fuck off! I hate having those dreams. “

You felt her scoot closer to you. You groaned, and sat up, looking at her. Her blue eyes glared into yours, and she was wearing that smirk you hated.

“ you’ve had more dreams like that? “

“ y-yeah..”

“ dreams where i finger you? And what..do you wake up…disappointed~? “

You squeezed your plush, glancing around the room. Youd do anything to just disappear from here right now.

“ y-yeah….i-i never get long enough into them to cum…”

“ poor girl…left so denied by your own body..”

You felt her hand move up your leg and onto your thigh, the only thing keeping her out was a thin pair of sleep shorts.

“ t-then I can never make myself cum afterwards…”

“ oh darling…well..I’m right here now. Do you…want me to help you~? “

“…….p..please do…”

Vanessa gave a light chuckle, before pressing her hand against your clothed pussy. You blushed, and pulled her against you slightly, kissing her gently, almost trying to encourage her to do more.

“ mm yeah..you wanna be my bitch y/n? You want your big stepsis to ruin your pretty holes~ “

“ y-yes…yes I want to be touched…I-i wanna be fucked by my big sister. P-please nessy…”

She kissed you back almost aggressively, dragging her hands down your waist, pulling down your shorts to reveal your pink lace panties. You moaned into her kiss, trying to get her in you faster.

“ gentle baby. You’ll get what you deserve soon dear. If I just made you cum quickly it wouldn’t be any fun. Lay back…I wanna have some fun too~ “

You laid back in the bed, letting Vanessa pull up your shirt to let your gentle breast hang out. She gently kissed each one of them before stripping off her own pants and panties, and positioned herself above your face.

“ you gonna be a good girl and eat me out? “

“ yes Vanessa…I-I’ll be a good girl…”

She smirked, slowly lowering herself onto your mouth. You hesitated to taste her, but her eyes practically controlled you. You began to let your tongue drag across her folds, trying to fuck her with your tounge. She would jump herself on your face, letting out moans and whimpering everytime her clit rubbed against your nose.

“ y-yeah my pretty little sister eating m-me out like it’s all s-she can do…”

You gripped her thighs to keep her close, yours eyes rolled back from her taste alone. Vanessa leaned back, holding herself up by grabbing your thighs for support.

“ fucking w-whore…that’s what you are…m-makeking me..act like this, making me want you…making me cum…I-i…oh just keep going y/n~! “

, she was trying to keep up the authoritative act, you knew it, but your mouth was just too good, you’d make her melt whenever you pressed your tounge against her clit. Her humps would speed up, and her grip on your legs would wobble, before she let out one final cry, collapsing backwards into your legs.

“ o-oh…oh fuck…your…you did such a..such a good job I…”

“ h-hehe…nessy…I-is it my turn to cum now..? “

She smirked, slowly sitting up and sitting besides you. You knew she was planning something, and you knew it wouldn’t be nice.

“ I’m a-awfully tired from that orgism baby…but..you can ride my fingers while I watch~ “

“ but y-you said you’d make me-! “

“ I said I would help you cum, not do it for you….if you want a Orgsim that bad you can ride my fingers…”

You let out a whine, before nodding. She laid out her right hand, keeping three fingers upright for you. You blushed, and slowly slid yourself onto them, crying out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

“ s-so much Vanessa….s’to much…”

“ take it. “

You didn’t respond, you only met yourself slowly bounce on her fingers, moaning out in a ruined pleasure. You wanted to cry out for her to just take you and fuck you stupid, but you knew it your pushed it she’d stop.

“ look at you…you know exactly how to behave too. What are you, Y/N. When your under my roof what are you to me. “

“ y-your…your property m-maam…”

“ and why are you my property baby. “

“ b-because you l-like to own things…a-and if I’m u-under your roof t-then you own me…”

She pulled your down and kissed your deeply, fucking you quicker with her fingers. She wouldn’t let you go at your own pace, she controled you now, thrusting her fingers into your gentle holes until your broke out into a ruined son of pleasure, you finaly had earned that orgism, before falling backwards into the comfort of the bed.

“ My pretty little toy~ “

She missed your again, pulling out of you and fixed you to lay under the blankets. She handed you your stuffed cat, and you immediately snuggled into her, one hand around her waist

“ my pretty little sister…I love you~ “

“ I-i….i love you too sis..”

#vanessa shelly #five nights at freddy's #vanessa shelly x reader #vanessa shelly smut #toxic!vanessa #tw toxic relationship #stepsis!vanessa #tw dubcon #tw noncon #tw

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flowerandblood · 1 year

Text

A Winter Beauty (10)

[Aemond Targaryen x fem!Stark reader]

[warnings: smut, sex content, religious guilt, fluff]

[description: Aemond and his family arrive at Winterfell for Rickon Stark's Name Day. There, Aemond meets his daughter, who arouses his desire. I changed some names and facts for the sake of the plot. Viserys is also slightly younger in this version.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next parts: Masterlist

______

The Queen was delighted when Lady Stark announced the next day that she wished to go with Prince Aemond to the Great Sept. She expressed her joy that her son's betrothed wanted to learn about his faith and tradition.

Y/N smiled warmly at those words and glanced at Aemond, who was watching her intently from the side. He remembered what had happened between them in the night and what her motives were. His gaze was black.

Of course, Lady Stark and Prince Aemond couldn't go there alone. Ser Criston was to accompany them. They all donned long gray cloaks and wide hoods over their heads so as not to draw attention to themselves.

For the first time, Lady Stark was able to leave Red Keep and walk the usual roads of Kings Landing. She was amazed at how alive and busy the streets were. There were plenty of shops, taverns and stalls everywhere, the city was bustling with life. She watched everything with curiosity.

She knew Aemond was watching her closely. After what had happened between them that night, they hadn't spoken to each other since morning. The truth was that neither of them knew what to say. They both felt like they were cursed. The way they interacted with each other was addictive.

Lady Stark noticed Great Sept. It was a massive building with a large dome and beautiful stained glass windows with a seven-pointed star motif. To get to there, they had to climb the high stairs to the very top. Ser Criston had been telling her stories about this place.

Lady Stark asked him to explain to her the main tenets of their faith and tell her something about each of their gods. The enigmatic Stranger intrigued her the most. She knew, however, that according to the will of her future husband, she was to pray to the Maiden and Mother for forgiveness.

Inside, the temple was very impressive. The space filled with large candlesticks, on which hundreds of candles were burning, was surrounded by huge statues with representations of seven gods. They looked down on them disconcertingly, their faces illuminated by candles and stained-glass windows. Ser Criston said he would retire and wait outside the temple to let them pray in peace.

As soon as he left, Aemond and Y/N looked at each other. Lady Stark couldn't help an involuntary smile of amusement that made the prince roll his eye impatiently.

Not wanting to annoy him further, she obediently knelt on a kneeler by one of the candlesticks, clasping her hands in prayer. She closed her eyes and bowed her head.

After a moment, she heard the creaking of wood under the weight of someone, and she knew without looking that Aemond had also knelt beside her. There was absolute silence in the temple. They heard only the sound of someone's footsteps, but no one spoke.

Lady Stark tried her hardest to devote herself to fervent prayer. She begged the Mother and the Maiden not to burn her alive after death. To express understanding for her weaknesses. To not punish her future husband for her sins.

She couldn't shake the thoughts and memories of their night together. What his wonderful, royal tongue was doing to her. The very thought made her shiver. She clenched her hands into a fist, swallowing hard. She knew they were doomed.

That they would pray for forgiveness every morning and end up in bed together at night, pleasing each other. They pretended that they try their best to hold back and they both knew that wasn't true.

After a quarter of an hour, Y/N felt discomfort in her knees. She shifted on the kneeler, trying to put the emphasis on another part of her legs. She heard Aemond move and felt him looking at her.

He had hoped that she would give up. Say that everything hurts her, and that she would beg him to go back to the Red Keep. But she decided she wouldn't give him the satisfaction and did as she was told. She wanted him to feel remorse, to want to kiss her aching, red knees.

For the last few minutes, she was actually sitting on her feet, unable to hold her weight properly anymore. Her legs were shaking slightly, but she tried not to think about it. To make the time pass faster, she imagined what she had thought of back in Winterfell. That he comes to her now, picks up her dress, and then takes her in the presence of his gods.

She imagined how nice it would be to feel him all inside her, what a sense of accomplishment it would give her. She swallowed softly and smiled to herself as she felt her wetness trickle down slowly between her thighs.

She thought she had just polluted this sacred place and he didn't even know it. She opened her eyes and was surprised to find that he was watching her intensely. She wondered if her expression somehow conveyed what she was thinking.

Aemond stood up, and she took that as a sign that she might as well. She staggered, feeling her legs go numb, and grabbed the railing. Aemond approached her, concerned.

"Everything's all right?" He asked quietly. Y/N nodded without looking at him.

"Yes, my prince. It was an intense, thoughtful hour for me.” She spoke truthfully, trying to keep her face serious. Aemond pursed his lips as he looked at her and motioned for them to head for the exit. The relief she felt at finally walking normally was indescribable.

The sunlight nearly blinded her as they stepped outside. Ser Criston rose from the stone bench and started toward them.

"How did you like it, my Lady?" He asked, obviously interested in her opinion as someone who had never encountered it before.

"Very much. I want to come here every day." She said calmly, and Aemond gave her a surprised look. Clearly, he hadn't expected her to take his words so literally.

When they returned, Y/N immediately went to her chamber. He followed her in and closed the door, locking it. She looked at him, feigning surprise.

"What are you doing, my prince? We shouldn't be in the same room unsupervised." She said calmly, raising her eyebrows. Aemond approached her impatiently.

"Show me." He said dryly. Lady Stark didn't know what he meant. "Your knees." He said more clearly.

"I can't. What would your mother say?” She asked with a smile, but he, annoyed by her behavior, grabbed her hips and sat her on a soft couch.

She couldn't hide her surprise and excitement as he knelt before her and shamelessly lifted her dress, revealing her bare legs. Her knees were all red and swollen. Aemond leaned in to kiss each of them, massaging them in his hands.

"Why didn't you tell me you were suffering?" He asked, looking at her, trying not to glance at her partially exposed thighs. Y/N pursed her lips.

“I want to be worthy to wear your mother's necklace. I'll go there tomorrow too." She said calmly.

"No." Aemond said, frowning. He knew she was playing him, that everything she did was just to tease him, to upset him. Lady Stark turned over in her seat, her face expressing displeasure.

"You don't have to come with me. I'll go there alone, with Ser Criston. I am free to pray as much as I want. If you stop me, I will complain to the queen." She said and stopped as he jumped up and leaned over her abruptly, his hands on either side of her head. His jaw was clenched, his nose was twitching in warning, he was furious.

"What do you want from me, woman? For me to fuck you right here, on this bed, in broad daylight? Do you want me to do that?" He asked, his hand slid under her dress and gripped her tight.

She drew in a quick breath, embarrassed and excited at the same time. She saw that he was on the edge and he didn't know what to do with her. She swallowed hard as she looked at him.

"Yes." She said softly, not believing it really came out of her mouth. But that was the truth. She couldn't even be ashamed anymore.

She saw his lower lip quiver at her words as he shuddered. His chest heaved at an accelerated pace. She could see that there was a battle in his head now, that everything he believed was melting away in front of him.

"If I do this, will you finally calm down and behave yourself?" He asked, his voice trembling slightly. Lady Stark looked at him with wide eyes, her mouth slightly parted. She could feel it literally leaking between her thighs.

"Yes." She whispered, though she knew she couldn't promise him that. Her whole body trembled with tension and anticipation. His eye was dilated. She saw everything in him - anger, fear and dark, all-devouring desire.

Her heart started pounding like crazy and her throat went dry as she saw him undo his pants. She settled down quickly under him, breathing heavily, looking at him expectantly. Never in her life had she wanted anyone or anything as much as him right now.

Aemond lifted her dress so she couldn't quite see what was going on. She didn't need it now, she just wanted to feel him inside her at last, wanted him to take all of her and leave her nothing. She pursed her lips and threw her head back as she felt his fingers touch her wet entrance. Aemond moaned low.

"Gods, you're leaking" He whispered, looking spellbound at his fingers touching her wet entrance. He couldn't hide how turned on he was and how much he needed it. He looked at her, his gaze dark as earlier in the night, his face stony.

"Spread your thighs wide." He said in a tone that brooked no argument. Y/N did it immediately, breathing heavily. Aemond leaned over her, his hands on either side of her head, staring at her with a mixture of rage, pain and euphoria.

"If you make even one loud noise, I'll stop, do you understand?" He asked through clenched teeth. Lady Stark swallowed loudly, her heart was pounding like crazy, the space between her thighs demanded the desired fulfillment.

"Yes." She whispered softly.

Aemond leaned down and buried his face in her hair. She shivered all over and hugged him tight as she felt his manhood brush against her entrance. She didn't know how to keep quiet, so she buried her face into his shoulder, breathing heavily.

She gripped his leather jacket tighter as she felt the tip of him pressing against her entrance. Her hand involuntarily went lower to help him, parting her skin slightly. They both shivered as they felt him enter her a little.

"Tell me if the pain becomes unbearable." He whispered in her ear and entered her deeply. They both gasped for air and let it out, stifling moans of pleasure, their hands clenching their bodies.

Despite some discomfort from the way he filled her and a slight pain, Lady Stark knew she had never known such a wonderful feeling before. She spread her thighs even wider and they both moaned softly with pleasure when they felt that he entered her to the end.

Only then did he lift himself up slightly to look at her. He thought he would see pain and terror in her eyes, but he didn't. Y/N touched his cheek, her lips slightly parted.

"My prince." She whispered softly, her eyes warm and thirsty. He shivered at the sight, feeling his cock throbbing all over her insides.

Aemond squeezed his eye shut, feeling how tight and hot she was. Their shared fluids ran down their thighs. Never in his life had he wanted so much to be inside a woman. He stroked her thigh lightly, as if to check if she was okay, if she reacted to his movements.

He pressed his forehead against hers, slowly sliding out of her. She moaned and pursed her lips, trying to hold back any sounds as he slide inside her again. He could feel their bodies quivering with excitement. That there was no salvation for them even if he wanted to. He couldn't stand it any longer. He just wanted to fuck her.

His cock began to slide in and out of her in a lazy rhythm, rubbing where his tongue and fingers had touched her before. They both opened their mouths at the sensation, panting heavily. The delight he felt was indescribable. No whore gave him as much pleasure as her hot, clenching, wet cunt gave him right now.

"You will destroy me, woman. I cannot sleep or rest because of you." He said, broken, and she moaned, covering her mouth as he sped up, thrusting her harder and harder, his cock entering her all the way.

He was filling her wonderfully and completely, waves of heat rushing through her with each thrust. She heard the wet sound of their bodies hitting each other. She had not thought that such an animal, physical sensation could be such a delight.

"Punish me, my prince. Make me regret my actions." She mumbled, and he moaned low, gripping her hips tightly and thrusting into her brutally, with all his strenght.

She knew it wasn't a sweet act of love between prince and lady right now. He fucked her, fucked her like a whore in a brothel and that's all what she wanted right now.

She arched back, grabbing the armrest with her hand, her whole body surrendering to its intense rhythm, both of them thinking only about coming, sweat pouring down their bodies.

Aemond thought he would die before marrying her. That there was no hope left for them, that he had to abduct her as soon as possible and forcefully make her his wife or he would go completely insane. The sight of her beneath him, the pleasure etched on her face, her parted lips and misty gaze made him unable to take his eye off her.

They weren't even naked, and they were doing the filthiest thing in their lives anyway. He thought with both embarrassment and delight that her tight cunt was just made for him.

He squeezed his eye shut in despair as he felt himself close to fullfilment, her hips responding eagerly to his every thrust, his tighs slapping hard against her buttocks, their juices spilling under them, creating a wet stain on the couch underneath.

They were both panting, holding on tight. He moaned low as he felt Y/N grab his buttocks and pound herself against him, her walls pressing tighter. He fucked her, panting with pleasure, his thrusts sharp, fast and wild, no longer holding back in any way.

"Gods, Aemond, yes" She mumbled and leaned back, voice froze in her throat as she pressed her cheek against the pillow. She couldn't help herself and moaned loudly as the strongest orgasm of her life flowed brutally and almost painfully through her body.

Aemond covered her mouth with his hand, leaned over her, and buried his face in her neck. He stifled his loud, low groan that way as he pulled out of her and came on her dress, massaging himself for a while longer, his cock throbbing hard and hot all over, his sticky cum dripping endlessly from him.

He collapsed on top of her, trying not to crush her. They were both panting heavily as they lay with their eyes closed. They don't even have the strength to move their hands. They knew they were cursed by the gods.

His fear that he might have hurt her melted away like morning mist. No woman had given him such pleasure, and no woman had reacted to him the way she had. He knew that now, that he had known the wonderful feeling of being inside her, he wouldn't stop at this one time. He shivered when he heard her voice.

"Thank you, my prince. I promise I'll be a good wife."

_____

If you want to be tagged in the next parts, let me know. ~

@zenka69 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @namoreno @dreamlandcreations @darkenchantress @moira-strangle-me-please @yentroucnagol @cloudroomblog @thehumanistsdiary

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theclairvoyage · 2 months

Text

Centrifugation: Chapter 1

plasmadonor!Joel x f!reader

You’re the star phlebotomist at the local plasma center, and the job has been increasingly mundane as of late… until a new and handsome Texan donor comes to the center and changes that, and the rest your life.

Series Masterlist

Series warnings:

AU, M/F, Age gap (20 years)-reader’s YOB is 1995 (purely coincidental lolol), eventual SMUT, blood, needles, & plasma talk (nothing too graphic, I promise!), a bit of blasphemy, criticism of religion, mentions of death, divorce, angst, fluffity fluff fluff, alcohol consumption, violence. Individual chapters will have specific warnings.

FYI – this work contains criticisms of religion and reader is atheist/agnostic. Feel free to scroll if this offends you. If you decide to read, remember that even if you are religious, this is not an attack on you, but rather ideology. And remember the tenets of religious freedom. Everyone has the right to believe – and NOT to believe – in the things you do.

Plasma Center UrbanDict:

Stick = venipuncture

PR = permanent rejection, aka permanent deferral

Reception = where donors have vitals taken to determine if they are suitable to donate

Donor Floor = where the magic happens, baby! Where donation occurs, aka sticks with big 17G needles

Processing = where units of plasma are sampled and frozen

This is my first ever fic! Excited to share all of it with you. I'm new to posting this kind of stuff on Tumblr, so please forgive rookie formatting and whatnot. Hope you enjoy! As of 03/10/24, I have 6 chapters written - I'm juggling my writing with finishing my MPH degree, so my schedule might be a little spotty until mid-May.

Chapter 1

Chapter warnings: blood, needles, & plasma talk, light violence.

WC: 3.7k

Friday, October 15th | 0755

You turn into the parking lot at the plasma center, a little later than your usual 10 minutes early. Your shift is at 8, so you don’t have much time to walk to the center, clock in, grab your coat and face shield and get to work. Thankfully, the parking lot is just across the street. As soon as you step out of your car, downtown Omaha greets you with the familiar scents of cigarette smoke and fall air, along with the sounds of the city buses and commuters chugging along.

It’s a nice morning. Living in Nebraska means you get to experience the peaks and valleys of all four seasons, and during fall, this means the leaves of what few trees are in the downtown area are painted lovely hues of orange, yellow, and even red – if you’re lucky enough to find a scarlet or pin oak tree.

The plasma center parking lot is shared with employees and donors, and it’s packed this morning. Not a great sign. You walk up to the back employee entrance and punch in the code. The keypad beeps and lights up green and you pull open the ages-old, heavy-as-hell door and make your way to the break room.

The donor waiting area is just outside the break room door, and you can tell by how full it is that it’s going to be a long day, confirming your earlier suspicions in the parking lot. Somebody definitely called in, you think. Great. Punching in the same code as before, you enter the break room, throw your stuff in your locker, and clock in.

As soon as you’re on the Donor Floor, donned with your white lab coat, blue nitrile gloves, and face shield, one of your best phlebotomists and good friend Keri approaches, looking flustered as hell.

“Jesus, thank fuck you’re here,” she sighs, taking a deep breath and raising her eyebrows at you. She smooths back her frizzy hair and sets down her face shield on the counter next to you.

“Are we short today, or did corporate send out some bonus texts to half of Omaha?” you say, checking the Donor Queue on the computer. 15 people waiting, average wait time of 43 minutes. Fucking clean up time, I guess.

“Two call-outs, but they’re newbies, so it wouldn’t have mattered, really,” she says. “Definite yes on the bonus texts. Regulars are all pissed off because they didn’t get any.” You roll your eyes and sigh. To get more donors in, the company you work for has been sending bonus texts to donors that haven’t been in in a while, which really ticks off the regular, twice-a-week donors. It’s all about meeting that liters budget.

“Where do you need me? Breaks need to be sent?” you ask her. You’re the lead phlebotomist, but you always check in with whoever opened before you make any decisions. Keri nods. “Send Blake to break, he’s got an open section now and we’ve got to get these wait times down.” You grab your mobile phlebotomy device and head that way.

Each phlebotomist can have a maximum of 6 donors in their section. You see Blake cleaning up the machine from his last disconnect, leaving you an empty section. “You can head to break, I’ll take over here,” you say, helping him wipe down the now-empty donor bed.

“Thanks… really happy that you’re here. It’s been a shit show today,” he says, walking away from the section toward the break room. You groan and head up to the front near the waiting area, grab a chart, and start climbing the mountain.

Thursday, October 15th | 1230

The morning turned out to be an absolute disaster. You quickly filled up your section once you sent Blake to break, apologizing to every donor you sat for the wait times. Most were understanding. There were a few that gave you an eye roll or a shrug. A few left the center, not wanting to be late for work. The fall is generally a busy time at the center, with people seeking extra money for football tailgates and games, college students needing extra money for just about everything, and parents stocking up early on holiday savings.

Thankfully, Keri, you, and the rest of the morning Donor Floor crew knocked the Queue down to 3 donors and wait times down to 10 minutes. Once the last morning break was done, they came over and sent you to your lunch. Delighted, you took off your sweaty coat and hung it up, washed your hands at the sink by the coat rack, and headed to the break room.

Before you’re able to punch in the door code, a deep, velvety voice stops you.

“Uh, miss? Can you point me in the right direction?”

You turn and look in the direction of the voice and see a taller man with dark, silvery-streaked curly hair, tanned skin and pensive brown eyes staring at you. He’s donning a red flannel that squeezes his broad shoulders and ropy arm muscles, and dark wash Levi’s that have the outline of his wallet imprinted in the front right pocket. He’s definitely a blue-collar guy, not unlike a lot of the current donors. Must be a new donor, you think. Damn, he looks good. You feel a little zap in your chest, not unlike the fingerstick donors get during screening.

“Hi! Are you a new donor?” You ask, turning on your customer service voice in hopes of calming your nerves. You step back from the door and walk toward him. He’s got a small white paper slip in hand, which tells you he needs his veins checked, so he must be new.

“Yes ma’am, need someone ‘ta look at my veins. Been here before, but it’s been a long time,” he says, watching you approach him and giving you the once-over. Twice-over. Your pulse quickens. His voice is like icing, dripping with a sweet Southern accent and mushing your insides. You smile and take the paper from him, hoping that you aren’t blushing.

“Roll up your sleeves for me and let’s take a look,” you say, watching him roll up the sleeves of his red flannel. He’s got thick, veiny forearms that are tanned and covered with freckles. He wears a watch on his left wrist that you assume hasn’t been removed in years, judging by the pure white skin peeking underneath. His hands are big and scarred. Definitely works with his hands, you think. He has a small, circle-shaped scar on his right arm near the venipuncture site, so he was telling the truth about donating plasma before. You grab a tourniquet hanging on the cabinet near the chart area, wrap it on his upper arm, and feel. His veins are huge and muscular, and you realize you didn’t need the tourniquet in the first place. Rookie mistake.

“Guess I really don’t need this,” you say, removing the tourniquet and feeling his ropy veins with your index finger. His skin is warm under your clammy finger. He chuckles. “Heard that one before,” he says. You laugh and make eye contact with him, noticing the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and his salt and pepper beard. His gaze is amiable and filled with something else you can’t quite pinpoint, and your stomach twists. You look away before you can decipher it.

“I don’t think you’ll have any issues with the stick,” you say, and he laughs. “Are you hydrated? Had a good meal in the last hour or two?” You ask, writing your name on the vein check slip and circling “Pass.” You see the name Joel Miller written at the top.

“Yes ma’am, I do a lot of workin’ outside and with my hands, so I know better,” he says, confirming your earlier assumption. His voice is sending a wave of tingles from your ears to your neck, and you feel goosebumps start to erupt in their pathway.

“Good man, Joel,” you say, noticing him perk up at you saying his name, “Take this back to the front desk and we’ll get you processed as quickly as we can.” He nods, gives you a handsome-as-fuck lopsided smile, and walks back to the front. You head back to the break room and turn to glance at him once more to find that he's already looking at you. Fuck, you think, looking back at the door. Don’t need a hot donor making me feel nervous like this. He’s older than you, but he might be the most handsome guy you’ve ever seen. You can only imagine how homely you look, clad in your scrubs and sweaty from the morning hustle and bustle.

You see every part of humanity at your job: young and old, foreign and domestic, all races and ethnicities, handsome and near homeless. There have been a few men that have caught your eye, and a few that you’ve met up with outside of the center, but none like this one. As tedious and mundane as the job can be, it’s the people that make it exciting, especially attractive ones. Well, hopefully he passes screening so I can see him on the Donor Floor, you think, contemplating what you’re going to get for lunch in the short time that you have.

Thursday, October 15th | 1430

Your break went by too fast. You decided on some fast-food place just across the street from the center. It’s good and cheap, but you know the greasy food is going to put you in a late-afternoon lull. Oh well. After you got back, the lobby was still relatively empty, so you started working on doing the monthly machine cleanings in the meantime.

The plasmapheresis machines are complicated and like everything else in the plasma center, they come with lots of rules and regulations. You’re a seasoned pro, though, so the cleaning and documentation are a breeze. You’re heading over to clean the last of the machines in the third row of the Donor Floor when you see a familiar, handsome head of dark salt-and-pepper curls walk behind Keri to one of the donor beds in the first row. He smiles at you as he lies on the donor bed, and you feel your cheeks heat and curl up into a smile of their own. Get a fucking grip. You’re relieved that Keri is taking care of him, because you’re nervous just seeing him in your work area. You can only imagine how shaky your hands would be with a needle if you were the one sticking him.

While cleaning the machines in the third row, you periodically look over at Joel and Keri. Keri is great with the donors, and it’s evident when you see Joel laughing with her. Each time you look up, he’s either already looking at you or looks up right after you do. You try to play it off like you’re scanning over all the donors, making sure everything is going as it should, but the sweat sheen forming on your face and neck betray you.

You see the light on his machine turn green, indicating he’s been stuck and is running smoothly. You imagine what it would’ve been like to feel his veins again, feeling his warm, tan skin underneath your fingers… and underneath other things, like—

“Oh my god, that man is such a charmer… and asked about you at least three times,” Keri states, snapping you out of your horny daydream. Your eyes widen and you turn so he can’t see your face from where he’s seated.

“Shhh! Keep your voice down!” You hiss, making both of you giggle. “What was he saying?”

“Oh, nothing much, just asking what the cute girl that checked his veins was doing all the way over here,” she smirks. “He used to donate here over 25 years ago when the center first opened up. Can you believe he’s that old? He does NOT look like it.” Odd, you think. He didn’t sound like he was from here when you spoke to him earlier. Wait, did he say I was cute? Blushing at his remark about your appearance, you remember the scar on his arm and think he’s probably telling the truth. “Wow, he looks good. How old is he?” Keri pulls him up on her mobile phlebotomy handheld and you see he was born in 1975. Damn. 20 years older than you.

Before you and Keri can gush further about Joel, the front door slams shut, echoing throughout the center and catching everyone off-guard. You watch as one of the younger regular donors, Cedric, storms past Reception and the donor waiting area over to the Donor Floor front desk, near where you checked Joel’s veins earlier. He practically spits your name, his brows pinched in a rage.

“Cedric, is everything alright?” You ask, approaching the front desk slowly. The once-noisy Donor Floor is quiet, save for the quiet whirring and clicking of the machines. Donors not wearing headphones are anxiously watching the front desk. You give Cedric the once-over and notice that his arm wrap is soaked with blood, and some of it has gotten on his white shirt and shorts and the floor around him. First rule of donating: Never wear white to a plasma center, dude.

“Does it fucking look alright? My arm wasn’t wrapped right and now I have blood everywhere!” he fumes. The entire Donor Floor is watching, including Joel and poor Blake, who must’ve disconnected Cedric. Blake approaches tentatively, tail between his legs, but you put your hand up to him, saying I’ll take care of this. Blake gives you a thankful nod and tiptoes back to his section.

“Cedric, I’m sorry about that. Come over to the sink and I’ll rewrap it for you,” you say, putting a fresh pair of gloves on. “Keri, can you clean up the blood spots with bleach, please?” You ask. She nods and grabs a Clorox bottle near the front desk, putting her face shield on and quickly walking around Cedric to search for the path of blood droplets. Cedric raises his voice again.

“Not good enough. I need that kid fired for his incompetence!” he points aggressively at Blake, flinging some blood droplets on the arm of your coat and on the front desk.

“Everybody makes mistakes, Cedric. Blake is a great employee. We can fix this. Let’s get you cleaned up, and maybe we can compensate you a little extra on your next donation,” you offer. But Cedric isn’t having it. He rips off the arm wrap and gauze and throws them at you while screaming expletives. The bloodied wrap nearly hits your face shield. Oh, hell no. He’s a long-term donor, so he’s probably clean, but it’s too close for comfort.

“Blake, call Trina and call the cops. Get this guy out of here. Cedric, don’t ever come back to this place,” you calmly instruct, walking backwards to find a biohazard container a safe distance from Cedric, never turning away from him. Trina, your manager, doesn’t put up with this kind of stuff and will make sure he’s permanently deferred.

“Fuck you, bitch!” Cedric yells, sprinting out of the center with two fingers on his free hand holding his venipuncture site, some blood dripping underneath. Once the front door slams shut, you turn around and take off all your PPE and toss it in the biohazard container, saving your nametag and pen. Frustrated and tired, you walk to the sink to wash your hands. Keri and Trina approach you.

“You alright, hon?” Trina asks. She’s a good manager, always looking out for her employees. She used to work on the Donor Floor, so she’s no stranger to these kinds of mishaps. Tensions can be hefty in this area – some donors are desperate for money, some fear needles more than death itself, and some are just grumps. Phlebotomists usually get the brunt of it.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just need to cool off. I told Blake to call the cops.” She nods.

“Go ahead. When the police get here, they’ll want your statement, so I’ll come find you then… I’ll put in the PR now,” she says, giving your arm a supportive squeeze before walking back toward the offices. You give her a pained smile and look to Keri, equally concerned as Trina. “Take your afternoon break, love. I’ll handle everything else,” she says. “Thanks, Ker. I’m gonna step in the freezer to cool off and then I’ll go.” She nods. You head toward Processing, located at the opposite end of the center. Processing has two giant walk-in freezers that always maintain temps of -40ºC – great for keeping fresh plasma frozen solid and an instant cool down.

You step in one of the freezers, shutting the heavy door behind you. You walk over to the fans and stand underneath. The sweat on your neck and back quickly freezes in its downward track, leaving behind a sting that could soon turn to frostbite. It doesn’t take long to cool off here, and anybody staying in for longer than a minute is supposed to put on a heavy coat, gloves, and a ski mask. It’s a popular spot for blistering summer days and after heated interactions like this. Satisfied with the pink blooming on your fingers and the crunch of your frozen, sweaty hair, you step out of the freezer and make your way outside for your break.

Once at the picnic table at the outdoor employee break area, you do a quick scan for Cedric. You can see the trails of blood drops leading to and from his car, and an empty space where his car must’ve been parked. Heaving a sigh of relief, you plop down at the table and massage your temples. Fuck… glad this day is almost over.

“Sweetheart, you alright?” A soothing, Southern voice rings in your ear and you look up, seeing Joel approach from his truck. He says your name, surprising you. Keri must’ve told him it while she was going through the process with him.

You take this moment to return the once-over he gave you earlier. Twice-over. His sleeves are still rolled up and you can see his arm wrap. His jeans crinkle at the hip with each step, his strong, toned quads flexing as each foot contacts the pavement. You can only imagine what he looks like from behind. His cowboy boots are worn, the leather cracking around the toes. He’s probably the type to wear a pair until they crumble to bits. He walks with a quiet bravado, taking long, smooth strides until he reaches you at the table.

You’ve no doubt you look exhausted. Though your sweat has frozen, you can feel how frizzy your hair is, especially around your face. Your eyes sting with fatigue and the skin underneath your eyelids tug downward. Your throat feels dry and tight, like you might cry soon. He must notice because the look in his eyes morphs from concern to anger.

“Hi, Joel,” you state, forcing a smile. “I’m okay. Not my first rodeo,” you wink, giving him a sarcastic “yee-haw” motion. He laughs, but his eyes betray him, still showing anger.

“Mind if I sit?” He motions to the spot across from you.

“No, go ahead, but the cops are on their way and who knows if Cedric will be back,” you caution him. He waves you off.

“That fuckin’ kid don’t scare me, and I saw everythin’ anyway. I can talk to the cops if you ain’t comfortable,” he says. He puts his hands on the backs of yours, and you feel another zap in your chest like you did when you first saw him earlier. You notice now that he doesn’t have a wedding ring.

“Thanks, but you don’t have to. I’m well versed in this department,” you say, feeling the tears reaching their boiling point. You do everything you can to keep them in, but one betrays you and falls down your cheek. Angry that you’re crying in front of Joel, you try to move your hand out from underneath his to wipe the tear, but he beats you to it.

“It’s okay, darlin’. You did the right thing, stickin’ up for your people,” he soothes, his thumb wiping your tear from your face. He moves his hand to cup your jaw and swipes his thumb gently over your cheek. His angry eyes softened back to concerned.

For what feels like an eternity, the two of you stare at each other, exchanging more communication nonverbally than words could ever. He’s looking at each of your eyes back and forth, and you feel yourself start to get embarrassed under his hot stare. You try to turn your head away from his gaze, but his hand stops you. “You’re alright, darlin’, got nothin’ to be ashamed of here,” he says, reading your mind. You bring your hand up from the table to gently grasp his arm as a sign of appreciation. His gaze follows and he swallows loudly.

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a genuine, close-lipped smile. His eyes move to your lips and then quickly dart back to your eyes, like you caught him doing something forbidden. He removes his hands and stands up, walking over to your side. He offers a hand to help you up and you accept, letting him pull you to your feet.

“Sorry your first visit back here was so crazy,” you say, and he laughs. “Hopefully next time it’s not so… exciting.” He moves his hand up to your shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze before dropping it. A tingle rips up your spine.

“Oh, I’m sure it will be.” He gives you that same look that he did earlier, the one where you couldn’t quite figure out what it meant. This time, though, you think you know exactly what it means. Your stomach somersaults.

“I’ll see you soon, darlin’. Hopefully your day gets better,” he says, turning to walk toward his truck. Once he gets to the driver’s side door, he turns to look at you again and pauses. You stand and stare at him, wanting to say something in return, but too overwhelmed by all your emotions. He smiles and gets in the truck, starting it and driving off while watching you with a small wave. You smile as he leaves.

Fuck.

Next Chapter

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #centrifugation #pedro pascal fandom

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starryeyedjanai · 4 months

Text

i feel so fucked (at least i’m feeling)

a very, very belated birthday gift to emily @judasofsuburbia!!! i hope you enjoy this!!! 💕💕💕

chronance | explicit | chapter 1: 6k tags: vampires nancy and robin, human chrissy, dom nancy, subs robin and chrissy, hooking up, angst and smut read on ao3

Chrissy has no idea what she's doing here.

Okay, that's a lie.

She's here because she needs to feel something other than the apathy and lingering dread she's been feeling lately.

She's here because she hasn't been doing well since the breakup. She's been just floating through the motions of her everyday life, stuck in this cycle of nothingness—she feels nothing most of the time, numb to it all.

And she heard that a vampire feeding from you is one of the most intense things humans can feel. She's heard it isn't always a good intense, but she's willing to take the risk to feel something at all.

So here she is.

Not even a full month after her breakup with Jason, finally pulling herself together enough to get out of the house and try doing something to jumpstart her, get her back to some semblance of normal.

She's felt lost since breaking up with him. She knew she didn't want to spend her life with him, but she feels like she doesn't know who she is without him. A big part of her identity up until now has been being a perfect girlfriend, a perfect daughter, a perfect friend.

A core tenet of her personality is shattered and the others are falling apart too. Her parents are disappointed in her for ending things with Jason despite seeing the bruise around her wrist when she told them. Her friends don't understand why she broke up with him either, even though she's told them multiple times about how he treats her, how he makes her feel like she doesn't matter.

She feels like she's lost so much and if everything is falling apart, why not self-destruct a little bit more?

This feels like she's doing something for herself for maybe the first time in her life, even if it is self-destructive. Nothing has ever been about her in her life, it's always about someone else—Jason or her parents or her "friends" who won't even speak to her now that she's poked a hole in the bubble that they live in.

So that's why she's here, at a feeder bar, wearing a slinky dress Jason bought her to wear to his company's Christmas party last year. She hadn't worn it because the back was too low and it was too tight, but she kept it shoved in the back of their closet—her closet now that he's gone.

She dug it out and dusted it off, pulling the skintight fabric up her body, donning the high heels she wore to one of Jason's work events.

Ugh. Everything in her life somehow leads back to him, still. She puts on the dress he bought her and the shoes she bought for his work event and gets a Lyft to the vamp district because he took the car when he left.

The driver asks her three times if she's sure she put in the right address.

She's sure.

Walking into the bar, she's less sure.

Her heart is in her throat, rabbiting fast in her chest like she's being hunted, like the eyes on her are assessing how easy of a prey she'll be.

She feels like prey. She's going to feed one of them tonight, maybe- maybe even more than that, so how could she not?

She's never had casual sex before and that fact is at the forefront of her mind as her heels clack on the hardwood floor of the bar.

She's been with Jason since high school and she's in her mid twenties now. She's never dated anyone but him. She's never fucked anyone but him.

That feels kind of pathetic right now. She's in her twenties and doesn't even really know what she likes. He never wanted to try things, never wanted to do anything except for the way that he liked it, even if she never got off that way.

She feels so out of her depth, this all feeling a lot scarier all of a sudden as she takes a seat at the bar. Maybe she should have started with a regular hook up before ramping it all the way up to seeking out a vampire, but she came all this way and she doesn't want to back out now.

The bartender is friendly, probably taking pity on her inability to conceal her nerves. She orders a mocktail, wanting to keep her wits about her, at least for this part.

She sips her drink when it comes, subtly trying to look around.

It's a Thursday, so she wasn't expecting many people to be here. There are groups of friends hanging out in booths, laughing together, single people at the bar like herself.

Just by looking from afar, she's not sure who's a vampire and who isn't.

The vampires here must know who's human, can smell their blood or maybe hear their heartbeat. She's not totally caught up on the intricacies of how vampires interact with humans.

But she supposes that's part of the thrill of coming to a place like this.

Unless someone flashes her a fang or something, she's not going to know who's a vampire and who's like her, trying to get bit.

She locks eyes with a guy down the bar and he grins at her, a feral thing, making her heart beat faster in her chest, her skin crawling.

She's doesn't like this, feeling pinned by his stare, watching as he sets his drink down and goes to stand up—

"Hey," a soft voice says in her ear and she breaks the eye contact, looking over her shoulder.

Two women are standing there, looking at her—she thinks they were at a booth when she came in.

"Oh, hi!" she says, grinning fake and wide, glancing back down the bar. The guy is seated again, his drink back in his hand.

Chrissy turns more fully towards the women who saved her from what was likely to be, at best, a very awkward encounter.

"I'm Robin," the taller one says. "And this is Nancy." She gestures to the woman next to her, all wild curly hair and red lipstick.

"Chrissy," she says softly.

"Do you want to come sit at our booth with us?" Nancy asks before running her tongue over one of her fangs. Chrissy feels faint, looking at Nancy's mouth. Her lipstick is blood red, stark against her pale skin.

She looks at Robin and when Robin smiles at her, her canines are slightly longer and sharper than a human's would be too. They're both vampires and Chrissy's face is flushing all of a sudden.

She says, "Yes," answering Nancy's question, getting up and grabbing her drink before following them over to the booth.

She sits across from them, feeling the weight of their stares, but it doesn't feel anything like the guy who was getting up to come talk to her.

It doesn't make her feel like an object, it just makes her feel seen and present and alive and. Wanted, maybe.

Robin breaks the silence, saying, "You're new here." A statement, not a question.

Chrissy nods, gulping. "This is my first time here, yes," she says, skirting around what she's really being asked.

Nancy hums, her eyes still piercing into Chrissy. She says, "Well, you're here for a reason. And your heart rate was erratic when that guy looked at you, so maybe we might have what you're looking for."

Chrissy stares at her. She hadn't considered that lesbian vampires existed. But looking at the easy way Robin and Nancy are leaning close together, the way they both came up to the bar to help her, she thinks she's looking at a pair of them right now.

"What do you mean exactly?" she asks anyway just to be sure she's reading this right.

Robin says, "You want someone to bite you, we've got two sets of fangs right here. You want someone to take you apart and piece you back together? Nancy does that better than anyone I've ever met."

A shiver runs down Chrissy's spine. At the thought of being taken apart, at the thought of both of them biting into her.

"Do you want to come home with us?" Nancy asks, cutting to the chase. They probably do this a lot, then, propositioning women who wander into the bar, wanting something their mundane human life can't offer them.

This isn't exactly how she saw her night going, but she was already determined to be reckless, so she might as well.

"Yes," she says decisively, sounding more confident than she feels.

She doesn't know if the myth that vampires can hear when you're lying is true, but either way, they're satisfied hearing that she wants to go with them.

Her mocktail sits half finished on the table as she slides out of the booth to follow them.

"We don't live very far," Robin says when they get outside, holding Nancy's hand in her own.

"Okay," Chrissy says, walking a step behind them on the small sidewalk.

"Are you from around here?" Nancy asks, looking back at her briefly.

"From here in the sense that this is the city I tell people I'm from because my tiny little town is kind of a blip on the map," she says, falling into step with them as they slow down as the sidewalk gets wider.

"We're also from a tiny town near here," Nancy says, her lips quirking up into a smile when Chrissy looks over at her.

This is easier than she thought it would be.

She feels like she should ask something- isn't that how it works with small talk? Someone asks you a question, you answer, and then you ask a question back.

Her mind is blank as she tries to summon any question to ask them, but luckily, they arrive at their place before the silence gets awkward.

They veer off the sidewalk down a stone path that leads to an ordinary looking apartment building. She's not sure what she was expecting- something lavish maybe. But so far, they just seem to be normal people.

Robin pulls the carabiner off her belt loop and swipes a fob on her keyring to open the front door.

The apartment is on the first floor, so she follows them and tries not to start panicking as Robin unlocks their door.

She has no idea what to do with a woman. She barely knows what to do with a man, but she has no experience with women or with vampires and she's kind of just jumping in feet first.

They lead her inside and it's- it's really cozy. Warm lighting and plush throw pillows and normal things that everyone has in their house.

She feels kind of silly for thinking their apartment would feel cold and clinical, that it might just feel like she was getting blood drawn at a doctor's office and nothing like she's read about online.

This is their home. They brought her back to their home.

"Sorry for the mess," Nancy says, looking chagrined as she tidies up the pile of mail that's overflowing out of a basket on the coffee table.

"It's okay," Chrissy says. "Your place is really nice."

She looks around, sees pictures hanging up of the two of them, sometimes with other people, sometimes alone - the one closest to her is just to two of them, Robin wrapping her arms around Nancy from behind, both of them grinning at the camera. It's nice. She can't remember the last time anyone took a picture of her smiling.

"Come sit," Nancy says, gesturing to the couch.

She sits down next to where Robin is already seated, feeling her temperature raise when Nancy sits down on the other side of her. She feels surrounded. She feels- not trapped, but caught, maybe. Caught by a couple of vampires who want her blood. She feels dizzy at the thought.

"So," Robin says, dragging out the 'o' sound. "How do you want to do this?"

"You were right that I want to be bitten. So you both can, you know, do that," Chrissy says awkwardly.

"Where would you like to be bitten?" Robin asks.

"Anywhere," Chrissy breathes out.

"And the other part?" Robin asks. If you want someone to take you apart and piece you back together...

Chrissy looks at Nancy, looks at her mouth, and she wants. She feels the want so deep inside of her, it feels like it might come spilling out. So she says, "Yes, to that too."

Nancy smiles, this smug little thing that has Chrissy squeezing her thighs together tighter. She looks like she wants to devour her. Chrissy wants it so much.

"You should, you know- you should also use your charm on me," she stutters out, blushing when Nancy raises her eyebrows. That was the other part of this that she looked up, a vampire's charm. It's why she sought out the feeder bar specifically.

She wants to feel good, wants to not have to be in control of her every micro expression for fear of someone getting mad at her.

"We should?" Nancy asks, leaning closer to her.

Chrissy nods. "I like it, like to feel- commanded," she says, as if she's done anything like this before. Her heart is beating so fast in her chest.

"Do you now?" Robin asked from her other side.

Chrissy looks over at her, noticing her dark pink lipstick. The shade is close to the one on Chrissy's own lips. If they — if they kissed, neither of the lips would look any different.

She looks at Robin's mouth and she thinks she wants her lipstick smeared all over her, staining her skin, both Robin's and Nancy's.

So she says, "Yes," a hint of desperation in her voice. It's what she wants. It's all she wants. To not have to think or make decisions when she doesn't know what she's doing. They've obviously done this before, so they should be the ones leading, the ones deciding how this goes.

They look at each other over Chrissy's shoulder. She glances between them and can't discern what they're silently discussing, but they seem to come to a decision without ever having spoken a word.

"Okay," Robin says. "We'll use our charm on you. But we'll check in with you every step of the way. Stoplight system work for you?"

Chrissy nods eagerly. Her online dive into what vampire bites feel like led her to a few racier websites, but a lot of them were educational, explaining kink and the like for beginners like her. She thinks she read enough to be safe.

And she feels safe with them, despite the thrumming in her gut, despite the fact that they're going to make her spill blood, probably sooner rather than later.

"Okay then," Nancy says. "Robin is going to charm you. In the bedroom."

She stands up and offers Chrissy her hand.

Chrissy takes it, letting her lead them all into the bedroom.

Her heart is beating fast, racing in her chest as Robin stands in front of her.

Her pupils bleed red a little as she says, "I want you to let us take care of you, can you do that for me?"

And Chrissy feels herself nodding.

"Can you take off your dress for us?" Robin asks.

Chrissy thought the feeling of a vampire's charm would be different, maybe that she would feel it more intensely. She feels lighter, almost, in her movements, her head a little fuzzy, as she slips the dress straps off her shoulders, but she still feels in control, like she could stop this at any moment if she wanted to.

She doesn't feel out of her body, like some people online have explained feeling, but there's a tingling sensation in her scalp so she knows it must be working.

It's possible that it's different for everyone, like the bites are. Maybe it doesn't feel like someone else is taking over completely for some people. Maybe some people just have this weird sensation wash over them like Chrissy's feeling right now.

She lets the dress slip down her torso and then pushes the tight fabric down her hips, letting it fall to the floor.

The look in Robin's eyes is hungry, like she's hungry for Chrissy. It makes something in Chrissy ache.

Nancy hums from somewhere behind her and Chrissy's cheeks burn. The thought of being looked at and judged, even if they like what they see, is a little overwhelming.

"You can take your heels off too," Robin says and Chrissy does it, the suggestion making her stumble trying to get her shoes off quick enough.

Nancy comes up behind her, putting a hand on the center of her back, and Chrissy shivers, the touch doing the same thing as Robin's charm—sending tingles down her spine.

"Let us take care of you," Robin repeats and Chrissy nods, the sensation from before getting more intense and spreading throughout her entire body.

Nancy steps in front of her and Robin takes her eyes off Chrissy to look at her. Chrissy looks too, her face heating up as she takes her in.

She's stripped off all her clothes too, her smooth skin on display for them both to look at.

Robin leans forward when Nancy comes to stand in front of her and kisses her, running her hands up her body like she's done it a million times, the tenderness and familiarity making Chrissy feel like she's intruding somehow.

And Chrissy stands there, aching—both from watching them kiss and touch and from knowing that Jason never knew her body like this, never cared to. She spent so long trying to make something work with someone who never seemed interested in actually knowing who she was or what she wanted.

Robin touches Nancy as Chrissy watches, knowing exactly how and where to touch to have Nancy sighing into her mouth, leaning closer, and clutching at her shirt like she can't get close enough.

Nancy pulls Robin's shirt over her head, flinging it to the ground, her hands going to unbutton her pants as their kisses turn harsher, nipping and biting at each other. When Robin's out of her pants, they pull apart and look at Chrissy again.

"Can I kiss you?" Nancy asks, stepping close to her.

Chrissy nods and Nancy presses forward, brushing her mouth against Chrissy's.

This is only the second person who's ever kissed her, she remembers suddenly, her mouth opening in a gasp as Nancy's hand slides up her stomach to cup her breast. The second person to ever kiss her is naked and touching her and it's making her dizzy to think about.

Nancy licks inside her mouth as she thumbs at Chrissy's nipple.

She tastes a little bit metallic, Chrissy thinks faintly, like blood.

Nancy pinches Chrissy's nipple lightly between her thumb and forefinger and she moans into Nancy's mouth. She didn't know her nipples were sensitive—they normally aren't.

She licks back into Nancy's mouth and tilts her head further, trying to kiss her deeper, trying to get her to kiss her the way she was kissing Robin a minute ago, all teeth and tongue like they weren't afraid to hurt each other.

Nancy pulls away and Chrissy tries to follow, swaying forward, but Nancy stills her with her hand on her collarbone.

She's strong—the force of her hand isn't overpowering on her, but she can feel the strength there.

"What's your color, darling?" Nancy asks, her hand slipping down to rest on her hips, fingers touching the waistband of her underwear.

"Green," Chrissy says, feeling a little hazy from the kiss, from feeling Nancy's strength, from everything about this.

"Can I take these off?" she asks.

"Please," Chrissy says—begs, really.

She helps Chrissy out of her underwear and Chrissy can't help but preen when Nancy makes a pleased noise, seeing her slightly unruly bush—she hasn't really felt like dealing with it, but Nancy seems to appreciate it.

Nancy grabs her hand and leads her to the bed. She sits on the bed with her back against the headboard, propped up against the pillows there.

"Come here," Nancy says, her voice ringing in Chrissy's ears, and she scrambles to follow the order, moving to straddle her.

Nancy redirects her, putting Chrissy's back to her chest, her legs on either side of Chrissy's.

"Lean back on me," she whispers in Chrissy's ear and she shivers, leaning back.

They aren't cold, like some people think—vampires aren't cold. Nancy is warm against her back, not warmer than a human, but not ice cold like some people were saying online.

Robin looks at them for a minute and Chrissy feels pinned by her stare.

Nancy's hands come down and spread Chrissy's legs out, putting them on the outside of her legs, putting Chrissy on display for Robin to look at, her cunt exposed to the cool air of the room.

Robin gets on the bed and crawls up towards them. She sits with her knees under her between Chrissy's spread thighs.

"Here's what's going to happen: Robin's going to put her mouth on you and you are not going to come until I bite you," Nancy says in her ear as Robin puts a hand on Chrissy's thigh, knocking the air out of her lungs. "Does that work for you?"

She nods even though she feels like she can barely breathe. Her cunt pulses between her thighs with the heat that rushes through her. Robin hasn't even kissed her yet and she's going to put her mouth on her. Fuck.

She's only had this done to her a handful of times and she kind of thought it wasn't good, that people were exaggerating about how good it can feel, having someone's mouth on you, but she's coming to realize that maybe Jason is what wasn't good.

Robin's hand stroking her thigh makes her feel like she's on a hair trigger and they haven't even started. She somehow knows it's going to be better than anything she's experienced before and she's so worked up about it.

But Nancy said she has to wait to come until she bites her, so she will. She'll hold on as long as she can.

Robin slips between her thighs, laying on her stomach between them, her mouth so close to where Chrissy wants her.

"She's so good at this," Nancy sighs in her ear, her hands both coming up to massage Chrissy's tits, pinching her nipples between the thumb and index fingers of each hand. Chrissy tries not to shudder at the feeling.

Robin puts one of Chrissy's thighs over her shoulder and then kisses her thigh, her lipstick leaving a mark on her skin, right over the vein there. Or is it an artery? Whatever it is, it's the important one, the one that would bleed her dry if they damaged it.

It feels so fucked up that her pussy clenches at the thought, at the danger of this all.

Robin smirks up at her like she knows exactly what Chrissy was thinking.

The first touch of her tongue to Chrissy's clit feels like a revelation. It feels electric, like she can feel it all throughout her body.

Robin licks her clit again and Chrissy tries to spread her legs wider, she wants to be splayed wide, all laid out for Robin to do whatever she wants with her.

And what she wants, apparently, is to drive Chrissy insane with her tongue. Because she dips her head lower and licks over her hole, a broad stroke over her entire pussy.

Chrissy lets out a shaky breath, gasping the next breath in when her tongue returns to her clit, flicking over it.

Robin sucks her clit into her mouth and Chrissy cries out, her back arching, her tits pressing more firmly into Nancy's hands.

"Told you she was good," Nancy says, pressing her mouth to Chrissy's shoulder. Fuck, they're going to get lipstick all over her. The thought makes Chrissy's head spin. She wants to be covered in their marks—lipstick prints and bruises and bite marks—so anyone who looks at her will know exactly what Chrissy got up to tonight.

The onslaught of sensations, her sensitive nipples being played with, her clit being sucked on, has the muscles in her stomach clenching already. She doesn't know how much of this she can take—she already feels close, strung tight, her being played like an instrument.

Nancy moves one hand up to tip Chrissy's head to the side so she can slide her lips against hers once more. The noises are pouring out of her mouth now, pried out by Nancy's tongue.

She almost doesn't recognize the noises coming from her mouth—she doesn't think she's ever been this loud before. It's for good reason though because Robin does something with her tongue that makes Chrissy's eyes roll back, her hips jerking up into the sensation.

Nancy pulls back to say, "Look at her. Look how much she likes it. She loves this, loves making you feel good."

Chrissy looks down at Robin, at the way she's looking up at them with hazy eyes as she swirls her tongue and sucks on Chrissy's clit, her thumb coming down to dip into where she's so wet and open.

Nancy whispers, "Robin loves this. She loves putting her mouth to use. She loves how you taste, loves the sounds you make."

It's so much, the feeling of Robin's tongue on her, the knowledge that she likes it too, likes pleasing Chrissy, Nancy's hands on her tits, the whispered words in her ear.

The heat is building within Chrissy, her core tightening as Robin tucks two fingers inside of her and presses on her g-spot as her tongue draws circles on her clit.

"I'm so close," she says, a high-pitched whine coming out of her mouth.

Nancy kisses her neck and then drags her fangs over the sensitive skin there. She says, "But you're not going to come until I bite you. Then we'll both taste you."

Chrissy nods, so desperate to get this right, her thighs threatening to close around Robin's ears even though she's trying so hard to hold it off.

"Please," Chrissy whispers as Nancy drags her fangs over her neck again, teasing her. Tears spring up at the corners of her eyes.

She feels Nancy smile against her neck before she says, "I like it when you beg."

So she says it again, "Please," like she can't help it, because she wants Nancy to praise her again, tell her she's doing a good job.

Nancy just opens her mouth against Chrissy's neck, holding it there as Chrissy hangs on the edge, on the precipice, so fucking close.

"Okay, sweetheart," Nancy whispers right before Chrissy feels the most insane sensation she's ever felt.

The feeling of Nancy's fangs breaking through her skin is intense, but Chrissy can barely isolate the feeling because she's too busy coming harder than she ever has, her eyes rolling back and her entire body trembling as Robin's mouth works her through it.

She read that there's something in a vampire's saliva—maybe venom—that makes people have a reaction and she believes that now. It feels like her entire body is on fire, starting from the point where Nancy's mouth is sealed over her neck, radiating down her entire body.

The noises coming from her mouth are loud and desperate and she's helpless to do anything to stop it.

She shudders through it, the prick of pain in her neck seeming to drag her orgasm out, or maybe it's just Robin's mouth that's doing that. She can't make sense of what's happening to her. She only knows that she's feeling more than she ever has, the orgasm washing over her and tingling all the way down to her fingertips and toes.

Robin gentles her mouth and pulls away to kiss Chrissy's thigh, but Nancy keeps going for a few seconds longer. And Chrissy knows it's the charm and the venom in her saliva making her feel like this, but she's never felt this good before, never felt so taken care of and wanted and it's embarrassingly bringing tears to her eyes, the intensity of it all.

Nancy pulls her mouth away and licks at the bite mark to clean up any spilled blood and Chrissy shudders. Just the knowledge that she actually did this, actually fed a vampire, is doing so much for her. Her cunt pulses around Robin's fingers weakly.

Nancy licks over the bite marks a few more times, before she says, "She tastes so sweet."

Robin pulls her head up from where she was kissing her thighs, her mouth still a little wet with Chrissy's slick. She licks her lips and says, "She's sweet here too," with a wicked grin.

Chrissy groans and drops her head back on Nancy's shoulder as Robin's fingers inside her press on the spot that makes her eyes cross. She feels so wet—open and dripping around Robin's fingers.

"Are you feeling okay?" Robin asks.

Chrissy picks her head up and looks down at her. She nods and almost groans when Robin grins at her, her fangs glinting in the low light of the room.

"We don't want to take too much blood. Are you going to be okay if we both bite you? We won't take a lot this time," Nancy says, running a hand down Chrissy's stomach, her fingers finding Chrissy's clit.

"I'm okay," she says, her breathing picking up again as Nancy rubs at her slowly, the promise of feeling that sweet, tender pain again making her pussy throb.

Nancy's fangs are at her throat again and Robin is mouthing at her thigh and Chrissy thinks she might shake apart if they both sink their teeth into her at the same time.

Nancy's fingers move deftly on her clit and she's going to come, she thinks, already. It's so soon, but she's so worked up she thinks it's not going to take much.

They both tease her, running their fangs over her skin as she moans.

"Please," she begs, wanting to come, wanting to feel them drink from her.

They must have some kind of telepathic connection or something because they both sink their teeth into her simultaneously and she's coming, arching up into the pain, into the insane feeling of her blood rushing out of her and into their waiting mouths.

The twin sensations of pain in her neck and on her thigh had Chrissy panting, her eyes rolling back at the pain and the pleasure, unlike anything else that she's ever felt. The rush of blood is warm and intense and dizzying.

With Nancy's fingers circling her clit and Robin's fingers still stretching her open, it's like she whites out from the pleasure, her eyes unseeing as she falls apart in Nancy's arms, her blood rushing past her ears, her heart thumping loudly.

They pull back after a minute and Chrissy's body sags back against Nancy's.

Robin gets up onto her knees, leaning over them. She takes her wet fingers out of Chrissy's cunt and presses them against Nancy's lips.

Chrissy tilts her head to watch as Nancy sucks the slick right off Robin's fingers, a shiver running through her.

Robin leans down and kisses Chrissy for the first time and Chrissy moans into her mouth.

She can taste herself on Robin's tongue—her slick and metallic blood both smeared around Robin's mouth.

Nancy's first two fingers are still drawing circles on her clit and she's going to come again, just from this.

She shudders, still feeling lit up from the inside from everything that's happened tonight. She's tensing up and coming a third time faster than she ever has before, Nancy's fingers deftly working her through it. The noises she makes get swallowed up by Robin's mouth on hers.

Unshed tears cling to her eyelashes, the pleasure feeling very suddenly overwhelming. She pushes Nancy's hand away from her sensitive clit.

They rearrange themselves and her on the bed, with Chrissy lying next to Nancy, still somehow feeling the aftershocks of her last orgasm.

"Was that okay?" Robin asks, like they didn't just totally blow her mind.

Chrissy nods. "That was, that was good."

"I'm glad," Nancy says and then, "Do you wanna watch Robin get me off?"

She feels her face, already overheated, get hotter at that. She nods.

Robin straddles Nancy's thigh and leans down to kiss her. It's the same intense way of kissing that they apparently save for each other—biting and sucking each other's lips.

Robin reaches her hand down and presses her fingers inside Nancy as she grinds down on her thigh.

Chrissy watches as they get each other off, hands harsh and demanding, taking what they both know they want. The slick sound of Robin's fingers moving inside Nancy—fuck, the same fingers that were inside of her—is loud in the room.

She watches and gets that familiar ache in her chest. Watching them move together so naturally, something that must have come with time and patience and getting to know exactly what they both want, has her wanting that kind of thing for herself. She wants to know someone the way they know each other.

Robin and Nancy make a beautiful picture, tangled up in each other. The sounds they make as Nancy comes around Robin's fingers and as Robin reaches her peak grinding on Nancy's thigh make Chrissy flush even harder than she already was.

They sound good together, they look good together.

Their kisses gentle as they come down, softening into something loving, smiling against each other's mouths.

Robin pulls herself off Nancy after a while and then climbs over Chrissy to smoosh her between the two of them.

They cuddle on either side of her and she allows herself to rest between them for a while as her heart rate comes down and she gets her bearings again.

Nancy's hand strokes over her hip, her body pressed up against her back. Robin kisses her soft and slow the way she did with Nancy after they came and Chrissy kind of feels like crying because she didn't know it could be like this. The pleasure, the kindness they've shown her is one thing, but she hadn't known it was possible to feel so content lying next to someone.

And this part, after, being wrapped up in them, between them, being touched with no purpose other than to touch—it makes Chrissy's heart splinter even further than it already was.

She can't stand it after a while, so she sits up after letting herself indulge in it for too long.

She doesn't know how to do this, how to leave after hooking up.

Robin looks at her and says, "You can stay, if you want. We can take you to breakfast in the morning."

And Nancy says, "There's a nice little cafe a couple blocks from here." Her hand traces up Chrissy's back and she closes her eyes at the feeling, more intimate than she knows what to do with.

Chrissy wants to, but she can't stay. There are thoughts swirling through her brain saying she doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve the kindness they've shown her. And she can't stay the night wrapped up in their arms and have breakfast with them in the morning and pretend this is something other than what it was.

She shakes her head. "I should go," she says, untangling herself from them.

"At least let us call you a Lyft," Nancy says, grabbing her phone.

Chrissy gets dressed, pulling the too tight dress up her body, putting on her heels again.

She takes Nancy's phone when she hands it to her and puts in the cross street near her apartment as the drop off location.

They walk her outside and Chrissy's back to feeling kind of numb.

All the excitement and the rush is gone, vacating her body even before she crossed the threshold out of their apartment.

Nancy holds her hand as they walk her out and Robin kisses her one last time before the Lyft arrives and it feels like something that could be something. It doesn't even make sense in her mind—could-bes and maybes aren't actually anything at all.

There's no room for her here. Nancy and Robin have a life together, something they've built together, something that they let her see just for a brief moment and it was beautiful and sweet and kind of everything she's been wanting.

But it's not hers to have.

It's not hers to keep.

So she goes home to her empty apartment with half her closet still sitting empty, memories of this night imprinted on her brain like a brand.

#chronance #ronance #stranger things #chrissy cunningham #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #robin buckley/chrissy cunningham/nancy wheeler #i was going to leave this as a standalone but i couldnt leave the ending like that so chapter 2 is coming soon

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atinylittlepain · 1 year

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Your Creed, My Quest - Prologue

Din Djarin x jedi!reader/jedi!oc

series masterlist

She's been tasked by her master to watch over the child, but things become complicated when she picks up a rogue Mandalorian along the way.

series warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence, angst, eventual smut, like a moderately-paced burn lol

chapter warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence, angst

a/n | ahhh! i am so excited to share the first entry of the series with you. let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series and I will start it up with the first chapter. thank you for reading! alsoooo, props to the darling @toxic-seduction for sending me the idea for this scene which really started it all, love youuuuu

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She doesn’t like this one bit. When Mando had told her about the job, she had initially refused it outright. It sounded like a suicide mission to her, banking on a prison ship to free a man with a group of people they didn’t know, but he had assured her that Ran had good contacts, people they could trust, at least as long as it took to get the job done.

But now, as they’re stalking the halls of the prison ship, her mind is a swirl of anxiety all over again. All she can really think about is the kid they left on board with that damn droid, the kid who is her one mission. She had found the child nearly at the same time Mando had, and had aided him in freeing him on Nevarro, saving Mando’s life in the process as well.

While there aren’t words for what she is, not really, not anymore, she is a wielder of the force, and when her training is complete, she would call herself a Jedi, if such a title wasn’t so dangerous to hold these days. She had trained from a young age with a master, and she had given this task to her, to reunite the child with his own kind, and to keep him safe from those who wished him harm. And somehow, she managed to pick up a Mandalorian on the way.

They’ve already had a run-in with a prison guard, Xi’an quick to kill him, something that sent a prickle up her spine. It was the first thing her master taught her, to respect all life, and to choose peace over violence, always. These people certainly do not live by the same tenets. But she supposes things are a bit different now in this New Republic.

“Should be down this hall, let’s go.” She pulls up the rear of the group, Mando further ahead with Mayfield leading them all. It’s not her weapon of choice, a blaster rifle held in her hands, but she knows it’d be foolish to bring out her sabers, keeping them stowed behind a loose panel in her bunk on the Crest.

Suddenly, Xi’an is letting out a high-pitched squeal, rushing over to one of the cells and pressing up against it. Mayfield quickly deactivates the lock, the door swinging open with a loud hiss, letting a twi’lek man step out as he hugs Xi’an in a tight embrace, murmuring that it’s so good to see his sister. She’s surprised when it appears that he recognizes Mando, a not altogether friendly grin spreading across his face.

“Mando, can’t say I’m happy to see you again.” It happens in a flash, the twi’lek man kicking Mando in the stomach, shoving him back into the cell and moving to slam the door closed. She moves before she can even think about it, stretching out her palm, willing the door to stop on its hinges. It halts, but she already knows she’s made a grave mistake revealing her powers. Not even Mando knew she could wield the Force.

A harsh pain burns in her thigh, and she glances up to see Xi’an holding a dart gun aimed at her, a wicked grin across her face. Sure enough, a dart with a now empty vial is sticking out of her thigh, the room already starting to darken and tilt around her. The last thing she hears before collapsing to the floor are Mayfield’s words.

“Do you think Jedi heads are worth more if they’re pretty?”

…

He can’t quite believe what just happened. Getting double-crossed by Qin, he could have expected. But seeing her use the Force, something he had only heard of in myths, something he thinks he may have seen the kid do, has sent him reeling. He steadies himself as best he can, ears pricking to the sound of a prison droid coming down the hall.

Getting out of the cell isn’t a problem, making quick work of the droid and using its key to free himself, but he knows he’s in a race against time to find them before they get to the Crest and strand him on this damn ship.

He hurries back to the control room, finding the group of raiders making their way through the halls on the surveillance footage. She’s still slung, unconscious, over Burg’s back. He has no idea what he’s doing, but he figures it’s all he’s got as he starts flipping switches on the control panel, sending the halls into darkness as doorways start to shut throughout the prison. The staticky surveillance screens show the group getting separated by one of the closing doors, Xi’an and Burg getting shut off from Qin and Mayfield. It’s a start, and now all he has to do is pick them off, one by one.

…

When she was little, she was given a sedative H4b injection before a tooth extraction to keep her asleep during the procedure. She woke up in the middle of the operation and had bit down so hard on the medic’s fingers that he needed stitches. It was one of the first signs of her sensitivity to the Force, her nervous system working just a bit differently than everyone else’s. So, it’s no surprise now that she’s waking up a whole lot sooner than would be anticipated with the kind of dart she was hit with.

The world starts to come back to her in hazy patches of sound and light. She can hear what sounds like two men fighting, loud crashes and grunts a little ways away from where she’s slumped on the ground. Her vision comes back last, blurry blobs of movement that start to focus in until she realizes it’s Mando grappling with that Devaronian, Burg. Something foreign stirs in her chest at the sight of Mando getting thrown to the ground.

It’s as if someone, or something, is whispering in her ear, directing her focus to the way the Devaronian is standing right in the doorframe, hulking over the struggling Mandalorian, and once again, she moves before she can even think about it, power running through her that is new in its speed and might as she whips the door closed on Burg with a twist of her palm, crushing him where he stands.

She doesn’t have much time to think about how different this power feels, not when a knife is whirring past her head where she’s still sitting on the ground. She jerks around to see Xi’an slinking down the hallway toward her, teeth bared in a hard cackle.

“Well, look who’s awake. Looks like your boyfriend is a bit indisposed at the moment. What say we have a little girl time?” She scurries up onto her feet as another knife comes hurling her way, grabbing her blaster as Xi’an runs toward her.

It’s a quick blur of jolting hand-to-hand combat. Twi’leks are notoriously squirrelly, but she has been trained for this, letting her instincts take over as they twist around each other, a tangle of blocked jabs and hard hits. Her mind becomes singular with the task to such an extent she doesn’t notice the door to the control room reopening, but Xi’an is quick to lob a knife Mando’s way, lodging deep in the sliver of unarmored skin over his shoulder. The twi’lek’s distraction costs her, though, as she grabs her, pressing her lips to her ear and whispering words that put her to sleep, slumping down onto the ground.

She finally looks up at Mando who is stilled in his place, his helmet tilting subtly as he looks between Xi’an’s unconscious form and her.

“You– you’re–” She cuts him off before he can finish that sentence, already turning and heading back to where they came in from.

“There’s no time for that right now. C’mon.”

…

“If you and the kid are gonna keep traveling with me, I need to know what’s going on. All of it.” She sighs, eyes tracing the streaking patterns of lightspeed darting by outside the Crest’s windows.

They had made it out, barely, taking Qin back to Ran’s station to complete the job while the others were left behind in a cell. Mando had thought fast, bringing along that alarm device, and as she watched Ran’s station get blown up by two New Republic fliers, exhaustion finally washed over her, the reality of just how much power she had used settling in and rendering her unconscious in the cockpit of the Crest. She was surprised when she woke up in her own bunk, the kid curled into her side and watching her with his impossibly large eyes. Mando must have carried her down to the hull while she slept. She still feels woozy, sapped, as she joins him again in the cockpit, and has to immediately sit down as he starts asking questions. She can feel his stare, even through his helmet.

“Are you– is the kid–” She huffs, picking the kid up from where he was grabbing at her pants and settling him on her lap, a contented coo sounding from him.

“Technically, I suppose we’d be called Padawans during a different time in this galaxy. But yes, we have both been trained up in the Force, though under different masters.” Having this conversation with someone behind a mask is unnerving, all he gives her is a small nod.

“Is this a part of your training then? Looking after him?” She shakes her head, glancing down at the kid who has slumped into sleep on her lap.

“No. My training is as complete as it can be. This is my mission, a trial of sorts. If I succeed, my master will give me the title of Jedi. It is not how things once went for our kind, but it is the path I must walk in this new world. I vowed to bring this child to my master so he may continue his training with her, and to keep him safe so long as he is in my care.” Mando nods, resting his elbows over his knees as he leans closer to her.

“I will travel with you then. The child is as much my ward as he is yours. I will do what I can to keep you both safe.” She frowns at his solemn words, wrapping a comforting arm around the child who is fussing in his sleep.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you wish to part ways with us. It’s not safe to be our kind in this galaxy. And it’s certainly not safe to aid our kind either.” Mando straightens in his seat at that.

“You have saved my life, multiple times now. I am indebted to you and I am tied to this child by my creed. So long as you need my help, I will answer your call.” She can’t help the shiver that runs down her spine at his words, swallowing thickly and nodding, but her attention quickly shifts to the darkening fabric over the front of his one shoulder.

“You’re bleeding.” He jerks his head down to assess the damage, shrugging lightly.

“It’s nothing. I can cauterize it myself.” She feels that whisper again, a jolt running down through her fingers. She quietly picks up the child and tucks him into his bassinet, making sure he’s still sleeping before turning back to Mando.

“Come with me, I can fix that for you.”

…

“I’ll give you a moment of privacy– please remove your armor and unbutton your flight suit.” He seems hesitant to heed her command, but he eventually nods as she turns around to face the wall of the hull. She can feel energy skittering up and down her spine, the anticipation of power being used only being heightened by the muffled sounds of Mando removing his armor. He finally clears his throat, and she turns around to find him bare chested, the top part of his flight suit shrugged off his broad arms and hanging loosely around his hips. But of course, his helmet is still on.

She moves quietly back toward him, eyes focused on the wound over his left shoulder, a deep gash smeared with blood. She brings her one palm to hold steady over his chest, her other hand coming to hover directly over the wound. His helmet is tilted down just slightly, she figures so he can study her as she closes her eyes and centers her energy toward the task.

Everything falls away as she feels the power flowing through her, like magnets pushing and pulling her toward him. It’s over in a flash, and her knees start to buckle in the aftermath, Mando wrapping his arms around her to hold her flush to his chest so she doesn’t collapse. Her eyes squint open, darting to the now smooth expanse of skin over his shoulder where the wound once was.

“Dank farrik. Are you alright?” His words are a bit breathless, clear wonder lacing his tone at what he just witnessed. She lets out a ragged sigh, still not quite able to hold herself up in his arms.

“I am– I just– need to sit down, I think.” He helps her over to his open bunk, sitting her down on the edge of his sleeping mat while he pulls over an old fuel tank to sit down on across from her.

“You didn’t have to do that– not when it obviously drains you so much.” She props her elbows on her knees, holding her chin up in her palms as she offers him a tired smile.

“It’s better than a cauterizer, though, isn’t it?” For the first time, she hears the Mandalorian laugh, a breathy chuckle as his helmet tilts at her.

“I suppose it is, thank you.”

“My pleasure, Mando.” She can hear a sigh crackle through his helmet.

“If we’re going to do this, I’d like you to know my real name.” She perks up out of her exhaustion at that. She hadn’t been sure if names were another sacred part of Mandalorian culture, something that didn’t get shared just as they covered their faces. She understands that this means something, for him to tell this to her. He holds out his hand to her, for once uncovered from his usual gloves. She takes it in a firm shake, trying to ignore the energy that she feels once again rolling through her.

“I am Din Djarin, and I will travel with you and the child so long as you need me. I will not break my vow to you. This is the way.”

#din djarin angst #din djarin x oc #din djarin x female reader #din djarin #din djarin series #din djarin au #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian angst #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fanfiction

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karahalloway · 3 months

Text

The Highwayman: Part I - Look For Me By The Moonlight

Fandom: TRR (Historical AU)

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: On a dark, moonlit night, a highwayman's luck runs out...

Masterlist: The Highwayman

Chapter Summary: Harper and Drake make a plan...

Word Count: 3,600

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, references to smut, references to illegal activities)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: So... This installment took a bit of a turn. Harper and Drake sprung a massive change on me because apparently, the original story was not heartbreaking enough... You have been warned.

A/N2: Astute readers will probably notice that Drake and Harper 'sound' different in this fic. This is deliberate, because this fic is historical fiction (set in the 18th century), rather than contemporary fiction, so I adjusted their vernacular accordingly (that said, I didn't go full Shakespeare because I'm not that extra 😆).

A/N3: As promised, this is my first submission for @choicesprompts January 2024 Song Rewrite Challenge. The song I chose to rewrite is below. I hope to do Parts 2 and 3 shortly as well, but I can't promise both of them for January. But I might surprise myself!

Part I - Look For Me By The Moonlight

The wind lashes the black expanse of the moor, flattening the browned-out clumps of grass against the frozen ground.

I reach a gloved hand up to wedge my cocked hat more securely onto my head, in a bid to stop it from blowing away.

The surefooted Merèns I am sat on picks his way through the brush of gorse and heather, seemingly oblivious to my plight.

"Bloody weather..." I grumble under my breath as a particularly vicious gust cuts through the buttonholes of my knee-length justacorps, instantly snatching away any vestige of warmth I may have managed to salvage.

The horse flicks his ears at the sound of my voice, as if questioning my assessment.

"Your opinion doesn't count," I tell him through gritted teeth, trying to work some warmth back into toes that have become chilled to the bone.

Drogon throws me a flippant raspberry as we skirt ‘round a flat-topped cairn.

Just then, the wind blasts through the cracks in the rocks, causing a ghostly tune to whistles out into the cold of the night.

The coal-coated stallion flattens his ears against his head, tossing his head in displeasure at the unearthly sound.

"Not so cocky now, eh, mon gross?" I grin, reaching out to give him a reassuring pat on his neck.

The horse responds with a sour-faced snort, stepping quickly past the moss-covered waypost — a brazen reminder of this land's heathen roots.

Because despite the House of Rys' conversion to Christianity almost a millennia ago, in the far-flung reaches of the kingdom — where the roads ran out, and the name of the King is just that... a name — the tenet of the old ways is more than just a memory.

It is a living, breathing ethos. Suffused into the very heart of this harsh, rugged, yet beautiful land. Where portents, spells, and otherworldly creatures exist in the same breath as Christ, the Eucharist, and Judgement Day, and the very air crackles with mysticism and superstition.

Which is partly what drew me here — to the edge of the proverbial map, where the laws of Cordonia fray into irrelevance in the face of the jagged peaks of the snow-capped mountains, and your fortune is what you craft it to be.

Not that I can afford to be flippant with my conduct...

As even this far from the capital, the King's Greencoats still man outposts and send forth patrols in a bid to maintain order. But their presence is cursory at best. Because if you know the moor — like I do — it becomes simple to lose yourself in the mist.

Plus, the superstitious inclinations of the border folk have aided in cloaking my less than savoury operations in the guise of fireside tales — spreading news of my exploits while keeping my identity masked behind successive, and ever more fantastical embellishments.

The Black Cavalier. The Raven Rider. The Headless Huntsman. Midnight Jack.

These are all names I've carried over the years.

But — more often than not — I am referred to simply as The Highwayman.

For that is what I am. A bandit. An outlaw. A common rogue living on the wrong side of propriety with no hope of redemption. For I've committed far too many sins in this life.

I've lied, cheated, stolen, and fleeced. Not to mention evaded the Greencoats one too many times for their liking. So, I wouldn't be surprised if the promotion-hungry Captain Belvedere Beaumont — who has been after my head for years — keeps a noose specifically for me in his saddlebag.

Because, worst of all, I've killed.

I've taken men's lives at both gunpoint and sword-point. Sometimes they've even begged. But I've cut them down regardless.

The ultimate sin.

But, there has never been honour amongst thieves. And if an unfortunate bastard chooses to pull a weapon on me, then I'm going to make damn sure that that becomes his last mistake, not mine.

I like living too much.

Especially as — after nigh on one-and-half score years on this Earth— I have finally found something to live for.

From out of the darkness, a lone spec of golden light hoves into view, nestled between the lee of a pair of windswept hills.

And, in spite of the hellish nature of the night, I feel the corner of my mouth lift.

As gold and jewels — while pretty and useful — pass through your hands just as fast as you acquire them, and sure as hell don't keep you warm at night. That is... unless you have someone to share your treasure with.

"Hue!" I urge, nudging Drogon into a trot.

But the opinionated stallion clearly has other ideas. As after a mere two steps, he launches into a full-fledged canter.

Not that I can necessarily blame him. We've been on the road... or lack thereof, for hours, and the sight of the twinkling promise of reprieve from the cold is enough to warrant anyone — man, or beast — to pick up their feet.

But, instead of riding up to the front of the gable-arched establishment, I direct my steed 'round to the back.

Slipping out of the saddle in the shadow of the stable block, I pull my sabre carefully from its scabbard as I reach for the metal of the door handle.

Creaking the heavy wooden door open, I sneak a glance inside. A man of my profession — and reputation — cannot afford to be lenient. So, an over-abundance of caution is a must. As is a well-sharpened blade.

Four horses occupy the darkened space, their heads coming to poke out into the gangway to assess my arrival. And, apart from the barn cat dozing on a bale of hay in the corner, there is nary a soul in sight.

Pushing the door wider, I lead Drogon into the relative warmth of the structure. Espying an empty stall to my left, I direct the horse towards the manger affixed to the wall, when I suddenly hear the scrape of boots on the hard-packed earth behind me.

Whipping around, the cold metal of my sword flashes through the air, like the talons of a kite, seeking its target.

A loud gasp of surprise rises into the air as the point of the blade meets the soft flesh of the intruder's gullet.

"Please, sir!" cries Emile, the stable hand, in fright. "I only came to—"

"Drop that lantern, and there'll be almighty hell t' pay..." I warn, seeing the lantern that the youth is holding shake dangerously in his hand.

The last thing I need tonight is the barn catching fire.

The lad swallows nervously, but nods, tightening his grip on the brass handle.

"Anyone else about?" I ask, scanning the dark.

Emile jerks his head. "Jus' me an' Lupin..."

Glancing past him, I spot the bedraggled hound ambling towards its master on bowed legs.

Sheathing the weapon, I move back towards Drogon to unclasp the saddlebags. "Feed and water the horse, but leave him saddled. My business will be brief."

"Of course, sir," bobs the lad, having recovered control of his faculties somewhat.

Hefting the bags onto my shoulder, I reach into the hidden pocket of my coat. Pulling out a ha' piece of silver, I flip it to the boy.

He catches it with wide eyes.

"For the trouble," I tell him as I stride past. Glancing back from the doorway, I add, "And if anyone asks, you never saw me."

"Thank ye, sir!" he affirms, quickly pocketing the coin. "An’ welcome back t’ The Crown & The Flame!"

Slipping back out into the night, I make my way quickly along the side of the barn. Locating the weather-worn ladder that leads up to the hayloft, I quickly scale the somewhat slick rungs. Grabbing onto the extruding stone lintel above the hayloft door, I use the imperfections in the crumbling mortar to pull myself up onto the peat-lined roof.

Scrambling across the ridge of the gambrel, I draw upon my destination — a lone, casement window suspended on the side of the inn, the light of a single candle flickering within.

Crouching down, I cup my hands to my face. Taking a breath, I imitate the call of a cuckoo, hoping that it will carry over the sound of the wind rattling the shutters.

I wait a second... then two...

The window creaks open.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me..."

She is leaning against the side jamb, head cocked to the side as she regards me with a wry look, her long, flaxen hair lying half-pleated over one breast.

I scoff back at her as I pull the saddlebags from my shoulder. "Not a chance in hell, lass."

She rolls her eyes at me, but pushes the stile wider, nevertheless.

Securing my stance, I assess the distance. Raising my hand, I test the weight, and with a determined movement, send the pack sailing through the air.

Reaching her arms out, she catches it with practiced ease.

"It's heavy," she remarks, slotting the bags down.

"That a complaint I hear?" I ask dryly, straightening back up.

"'Tis merely an observation," she replies with a shrug, the soft cotton of her shift sliding seductively off her shoulder in the process.

I shake my head as I retreat back across the stable roof somewhat. This lass is going to be the death of me...

Turning back 'round, I take a couple of long-legged strides across the hardened peat, before throwing myself across the divide.

My gut drops like a leaden ball at the momentary sense of weightlessness — my actions at diametric odds with my God-given sense of self-preservation — as the passage of time seems to slow...

...but then my boot hits the metal sill of the window and the heavy hand of Chronos comes crashing back down on me like a hard wave against the shore.

Grasping the coolness of the central mullion, I pull myself into the haven of her room.

"God," she says with a shudder, throwing her arms 'round my neck. "You send a piece of my soul to the grave each time you do that..."

"You'd rather I take the stairs?" I drawl, the honey and wood-fire scent of her hair washing over me, warming me like the heat of the summer sun.

"And risk being caught?" she tuts. "In truth, I am not certain what would be the worse fate."

"Getting whipped by your father, for sure," I reply solemnly. "I don't think my pride could survive it."

She pulls back from me with an aghast look. "So, you would risk a broken leg... or worse, over my Da's ire?"

"Until the day I can make an honest woman of you, aye," I confirm, lifting her face to mine with a gloved finger. "I will not risk your reputation."

She laughs up at me. "You shredded my reputation when you tumbled me in the hay, good sir!"

"Aye," I concede with a smirk. "But no one knows that."

"Well, they might soon..." she admits, dropping a hand to the front of her shift.

The breath tangles in my throat. "You... You are not..."

Her hazel eyes sparkle with feeling. "With child... Yes."

Her words hit me like grapeshot out of the blue. "Nom de Dieu..."

Her smile falters in the face of my no-doubt ashen expression. "You... You are not pleased?"

I bark out a laugh. "Pleased? Mon coeur, I am over the damn moon!" Lifting her into the air, I spin her 'round in a joyous arc. "I believed myself to be blessed already for the fact that a golden-haired siren such as yourself even deigned to look at a wretch like me, much less offer me her heart."

"I offered nothing," she counters breathlessly as I set her back down. "You stole my heart the very moment you looked upon me."

"Lucky for me that I have some skill in that area," I smirk, bending towards her.

She lays into me with a playful smack. "Incorrigible rogue! Your silver tongue could disarm the devil!"

"I should hope so..." I murmur, tangling a hand in her silken hair. "It managed to disarm you..."

Our lips meet, and she melts against me with a sigh.

"Christ, I love you, Harper..." I groan, tightening the heartfelt hold I have on her, albeit mindful of the new life budding inside her.

"I love you too, Drake," she whispers, gazing up at me with complete adoration as she runs her fingers down my face. "With all that I am."

My heart constricts in my chest.

A child... Our child...

In truth, I never dared dream of it. It is not something that I believed to be in the cards for me, living as I do, in the shadow of the night... and the law. Where one simple miscalculation could end with a bullet to the gut... or a noose around the neck.

But I never thought to trade it. The thrill... The freedom... It was too addictive.

That is... until I chanced upon the bright-eyed lass currently cradled in my arms.

I hadn't meant to succumb to her. I hadn't meant to do anything quite as foolish as fall in love. But she managed to slay me with a single smile. And I've been a fool for her ever since.

Fool enough to get her child, it seems, before I even secured her father's blessing, much less married her!

I really am an incorrigible rogue...

"Drake?" The softness of her voice cuts through my senses. "My love? Are you—?"

"I am fine," I assure her, turning my head to drop a kiss into her palm. "I was just thinking..."

"Always dangerous..." she quips with a smirk.

"Hey," I counter, clasping her hands in mine. "It was a lack of thought that landed the two of us in this quandary, so—"

Her mouth parts in shock. "You dare call your own child a quandary?"

I meet her eye with a level look. "He will be called a damn sight worse if he arrives into this world out of wedlock. Not to mention the fate that awaits his mother..."

Her shoulders slump in dejection. "My father would disown me for sure..."

"And cast you out onto the moor, newborn babe in tow," I add grimly.

She heaves a morose breath. "I do despise it when you talk sense..."

"It is the thankless burden I was born to bear..."

She smacks me again.

"But in all seriousness," I continue, catching her hand in mine once more. "We must be prudent, mon coeur. The child will be here before we know it, and it is our precious duty to do best by him."

"How do you know it will be a he?" she asks softly as I lift her hands to my lips.

"Have I ever given you cause to doubt me, lass?" I ask her, feathering a kiss over her knuckles.

"Cocksure rake..." she admonishes. But her fingers tighten 'round mine nevertheless.

"So," I conclude, straightening back up, "I am thinking that it's high time we eloped."

Her eyes widen. "Elope!"

"There is a small church, about a half-day's ride from here—"

"But my father...!"

"The contents of that saddle bag should more than compensate him for the loss of his serving wench," I tell her. "As well as cover your dowry."

Her mouth opens — no doubt in planned protest — but she suddenly thinks better of it. "Alright," she agrees, raising her face to mine with a beaming smile. "Let's find that priest!"

"Whoa, whoa!" I chuckle, pulling her back into my arms as she tries to spin away. "Hold your horses, woman!"

"I thought you wanted to be quick about this," she counters.

"I do," I affirm. "But it's the middle of the night and I don't have a horse for you, much less a ring..."

She glances towards the window. "I am sure there's something in those bags we can misappropriate for our purposes. And I can saddle up Devlin. He is a cart-horse, but I am sure—"

I shake my head. "Nay. I want to start our new life together as a reformed man. No more thieving... No more profiting off ill-gotten gains."

"But how will we—?"

"Don't you worry your pretty head about that, my sweet," I assure her. "I have enough booty stashed away to buy you a palfrey, as well as a ring that is worthy of your otherworldly beauty—"

She blushes at my compliment. "Don't exaggerate, sir..."

"'Tis no exaggeration," I assure her with a wink. "And perchance even enough to let us acquire a flat in town, or a small holding in the interior... Or if none of that takes your fancy, I'll build us a cottage in the woods, or a cot by the sea, and—"

"I've never set eyes upon the sea..." she breathes in wonder.

"The point is," I conclude. "We have sufficient coin to afford ourselves the freedom of choice, mon coeur."

She arches a skeptical brow. "And when we run out?"

I let out a low exhale. "And when we run out, I suppose I'll have to pick up an honest trade."

She scoffs. "You? Honest? Those two words don't abide each other, Drake. You've been a scoundrel your whole life!"

"And yet... somehow,"I roll my eyes at her ruefully. "You are about to make an honest man out of me, Harper. So, I am loath to admit that the concept may not be as outlandish as it may appear at first blush."

"I suppose," she concedes with an equally wry quirk to her mouth. "Just don't lose your zest for life. It is the very thing I fell in love with."

"I thought it was my roguish charm," I counter.

"The two go hand in hand," she assures me, lifting her face to mine again.

Our lips fuse — with greater ardency this time — and I am loath to part from her.

But, I know that I must. The night is wearing on, and if I am to abide by my promise to her, I must get back on the road.

"Unpack the bags and hide the gold where your father is sure to find it," I tell her, pulling myself away with great difficulty.

She nods silently, cheeks flushed from our heated exchange.

Slipping out of my arms, she retrieves the saddlebags from their place by the wall and carries it to the other side of the room. Locating the loose floorboard at the foot of the bed, she dumps the contents in and replaces the covering.

"When will you return?" she asks, handing the bags back to me.

"As hastily as I can," I assure her. "But if the Greencoats are out in force, I may need to trek via the marshes, which will take longer and be more arduous."

"Please take care," she pleads, grasping my hand in hers. "The marshes are treacherous, especially in the winter."

"I always do," I soothe, reaching up to cup her face with my free hand. "But should I do not return by noon, then look for me by the moonlight."

"I will," she affirms, eyes shining with fervour. "I love you."

"I love you, too, mon coeur," I rasp, drawing her in for one final kiss.

She presses herself to me, as aggrieved by our forced parting as I, and I kiss her hungrily back. But I know in my heart that the brief absence will be worth the bitterness of the sorrow.

Because this time tomorrow, I hope to call her my wife.

Breaking off the kiss, I swing the empty bags back onto my shoulder and turn towards to the still-open window.

"Wait!"

Turning around, I spot her pulling the dark red ribbon from the unfinished pleat in her hair.

"What's this?" I ask as she holds it out for me.

"A good-luck charm," she replies. "To speed you back to me."

I lift the silken strip from her fingers, and press it to my lips. "I'll always return to you, mon coeur. Even if hell should bar the way."

"I know," she says simply. "But a small trinket cannot hurt your efforts. Now, fly! Fly like a witch on the wind! And give Drogon a kiss from me."

"I'd rather steal another kiss from you," I admit, tucking the ribbon against my heart.

"I'd rather save some for the wedding night..." she counters with a sly look.

I throw her a sidelong glance as I climb back onto the window sill. "Lass, you can rest assured that we'll be doing a damn sight more than kissing on our wedding night..."

The waves of her now loosened hair brush my shoulder as she leans in to whisper, "I didn't say which part of you I'm saving the kisses for."

A deep-throated groan tumbles from my lips as she drops a teasing kiss on my neck. "You're going to be the death of me, woman..."

"A little suspense never killed anyone," she counters cheekily.

"Somehow I doubt that," I scoff as I drop back into the night.

The story continues in Part II - On The Stroke Of Midnight

A/N: Translations for the French below:

Mon gross - lit. 'my fat' but as a slang term, it is the equivalent of 'my buddy' or 'my bro'.

Hue - apparently this is a somewhat archaic equestrian command that was used to tell the horse to go (equiv. to giddy-up). Not 100% sure if the e is supposed to have an accent, so if anyone knows, tell me!

Mon coeur - lit. 'my heart' but connotatively the same as 'my love'

Nom de Dieu - lit. ‘name of God’, but connotatively the same as ‘Oh, my God’ or ‘Good God’

Permatags

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @kingliam2019 @petiteboheme @angelasscribbles @aussiegurl1234 @nestledonthaveone @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @twinkle-320 @knaussal @nikkis1983 @lunaseasblog @ficloverevie @indiana-jr @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kristinamae093 @eversoaringqueen12 @peonierose @3pawandme @alexabeta @veebug8 @fanfiction-she-wrote @queenmiarys @lancelotsimp @coco-lina-s @lolablackwrites @ivyflowers13 @persephone13 @hollygirl1269 @adri-ja-96 @harleybeaumont @katedrakeohd @uneravine @alj4890

#harper gale #drake walker #the highwayman #trr au fanfic #choicespromts #song rewrite #historical au #Spotify

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tangerinesilk · 1 year

Text

❥ tangerinesilk's masterlist

♡ smut / ♧ fluff / ☂︎ angst

➢ BULLET TRAIN : TANGERINE

back up plan | 3.7k ♡☂︎・ they think you’re the diesel, but you know who took the case. too bad for you that tangerine, a guy from your past, likes to shoot first and ask questions later. as fun as that is, you quickly team up to figure out who took the case and what terrible fate they’ll meet... and of course, rehash your complicated past.

domestic!tangerine hcs | 0.5k ♧・listing off a few things a very soft tan would do for you. it's only very soft and very sweet.

i can see you | 6k ♡♧☂︎・tangerine is going on a solo mission… well, at least he thinks he is. with lemon missing by his side, he’s left with one other option that is supposed to make his job easier. unfortunately for him, you’re not the easiest to work with. stubborn, strong-minded and feisty. you’re both so alike yet nothing has made your bloods boil more than each other.

➢ KICKASS : DAVE LIZEWSKI

distraction | 1.7k ♡・dave was a great study buddy, but there’s no doubt he was a distraction. he constantly made you turn your head twice at whatever he said or did whether it was some comic book character he rambled about or how his pale blue eyes shined under the warm lighting of his desk lamp.

➢ MARVEL : PIETRO MAXIMOFF

none yet!

➢ TENET : IVES

none yet!

#masterlist #tangerine #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x y/n #tangerine x you #tangerine one shot #aaron taylor johnson #dave lizewski #pietro maximoff #ives tenet

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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

Photo

𝓗𝓪𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓕𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 13𝓽𝓱!

In honor of the day, I thought it might be fun to run a short little horror challenge. You do not have to message me, or ask to join, nor do you have to be following me, but it would be cool if you did! Simply spin the wheel (or pick from the list below) to pick your poison, and submit your fic by Sunday, 1/15, 11:59pm to be featured on the challenge masterlist. No late fics! The point of this is to get spooky for the 13th. So let’s get spooky!

RULES:

1. Due to my blog content, and the content of my friends and followers, this challenge is 18+ only. No minors. You will be blocked.

2. Your story does NOT have to contain smut, but it must be spooky! This is a horror challenge, this tenet is non-negotiable.

3. All tropes allowed—Dark, A/B/O, Mafia, etc! Just make sure your fic is tagged and warned appropriately.

4. Your submission must be a new and original work—no submitting chapters from previous fics, or installments in ongoing series. If it IS an installment of something existing, it must be able to be read and made sense of as a stand-alone piece.

5. There is a strict 1.3k word limit, and 3 submissions are allowed per user. (This means you can write a 3 chapter mini-series if you like, but each chapter must be no more than 1.3k words total!) All submissions must be entered by 1/15/23 at 11:59pm EST.

6. I reserve the right not to reblog work I find offensive or harmful, or that does not fulfill the challenge briefing!

7. Please, no submissions from fandoms I am not in. Chris Evans characters, Sebastian Stan characters, MCU characters, as well as other marvel actors and their fandoms are all acceptable to submit. If you have questions, shoot me a message and I can clarify!

8. Have fun!! More than anything, I want people to enjoy themselves and have fun. If this challenge is not sparking joy, it’s okay to sit it out. There will be more!

Spin the wheel!

or Pick your prompt!

-Serial Killer

-Stalker

-Demon

-Poltergeist

-Undead

-Witchcraft

-Cult

-Old Gods

-Eldritch Horror/Cosmic Horror

-From the Deep

-Abominable

-The Forest is Old and Angry

-Werewolf/Were-creature

Have fun! Please reblog so that others can see and join if they would like to ❤️🖤

#marvel fandom #chris evans fandom #cevans fandom #cevans fanfiction #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan characters #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu challenge #challenge #horror challenge #friday the 13th challenge #friday the 13th #boxofbonesfic challenge #prompts #prompt #prompt challenge #writing challenge

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fiveht · 7 months

Note

hello! question about disarm and their dynamic!! you said in an earlier ask that u are well aware of the power imbalance happening in the fic

i was wondering, how did you deal with the fact that remus was clearly attracted to 17 year old sirius and waited anxiously for him to turn 18 before pouncing? it's quite a controversial topic— i'd love to know how you navigated that challenge! :)

Okay well this is probably me just strolling into a fucking minefield, so I just want to preface this by saying that Disarm is a fictional work intended to be seen as a pulpy, trashy romance/erotica short story, and should not be examined for deeper meaning or messages, because there are none present. So I'm not going to talk about the real-world implications, because I think it's insulting to the reader when the author feels they have to make a point to remind them that a fictional story shouldn't be replicated in real life. I'm going to assume, given that my fics all have Explicit ratings, that no one under 18 is reading my writing, because it is specifically rated for adult audiences! (And if a minor consumes media that is clearly intended for adults, it's not the creator's responsibility to address them.) When I write, and when I speak about my writing, I am speaking to a group of adults who are more than capable of distinguishing fiction from real life and who do not need some random smut writer coming along to tell them how to be good and moral citizens.

That being said, of course their power imbalance was a factor I considered while I was writing, because power imbalance is one of the main tenets of age difference fics. So I'll address some things in the context of Remus' perspective on the development of their relationship.

First I'd like to clarify that while Remus was attracted to Sirius immediately, he wasn't aware he was 17 until the day of his birthday, so there was no like, countdown marked on his calendar or anything. Rieka told him she was going out for Sirius' birthday that night, and that was the moment Remus learned that Sirius wasn't yet 18. Before that, all he knew was that Sirius was university-aged. And more to the point, he most definitely was not waiting anxiously before he pounced. The idea of going for Sirius, who at that time was just Rieka's cute friend, would have never crossed his mind. Sirius is attractive to him because Sirius is just fucking pretty, and very much Remus' type physically, but Remus doesn't pursue every twink who catches his eye. (Maybe in his younger days… but that's a backstory for another time.) Remus doesn't know the mysterious texter is Sirius until the night of his birthday, and he would not have pursued Sirius if he had never figured it out. The texter is a benign curiosity until that night, and Sirius is a cute sometimes-houseguest with somewhat questionable boundaries. That's all.

So idk, maybe that answers your question, but if you would like to learn more about Remus' perspective, read on.

Remus is very, very careful in how he approaches things, because he has no reason to think that Sirius actually wants to go further than being an anonymous brat in his text messages. The in-person flirting actually stops very early on -- that wasn't just me not showing the other times it happened, the second scene in Remus' office is the last time Sirius comes on so strong. After that it's just car rides home, and while Sirius is kind of a natural flirt and can't help himself sometimes, for the most part those car rides are about getting to know each other and having genuine conversations, not about Sirius playing with his hair and fluttering his eyelashes suggestively.

It does not escape Remus' notice that the first time the texts go quiet, it's after he insinuates that he wants to know who he's talking to. He interprets that as an indication that Sirius is not ready to take things further at that time, and he doesn't push it. He gets him the groceries with no ulterior motive -- at this point, Remus is falling for Sirius in a way that's kind of confusing and foreign to him, but he knows for sure that he can't stop thinking about how shitty and awful and unsafe Sirius' apartment/neighbourhood is, and how he must be flat broke because he doesn't have a job and Remus is well aware of what his tuition is costing him and what rent is like in their city, even in a shithole like that. So he buys him fucking groceries, because he wants to take care of Sirius, even if that's all Sirius ever wants from him. He tells him he's welcome at his and Rieka's place any time, and he isn't flirting when he says that, he just wants Sirius to know he has support if he wants to use it.

As I've said before, Remus is aware of their power differential, so he wants to make sure that Sirius is granted as much power and control over the development of their relationship as possible. It's very important to Remus that the big moves are made by Sirius, not by him. The small moves, too -- the only times Remus initiates conversations, it's just to say hi, and ask how Sirius is doing, and try to cheer him up if he's down. Sirius (aggressively) initiates everything even remotely sexual. So things heat up again, and Sirius sends him the video, and Remus hears him speak in the video, and thinks, okay, so maybe he does want me to know? And he's still not going to say it, because he has no intention of forcing Sirius' hand, so when it comes up again, he simply says that he would like to know who Sirius is, and when Sirius says he's afraid to tell him, Remus drops it. He doesn't want Sirius to feel any pressure whatsoever. If he wants to just keep sexting indefinitely, Remus is here for it. But he does have feelings for Sirius now, feelings that go well beyond "oh no he's hot", so if Sirius is ever up for taking another step, Remus is here for that too.

The call-and-response reveal conversation is as forthcoming Remus is willing to be. He builds those questions slowly, so if Sirius sees a question like "Do you know where I live?" and panics and asks to stop, he never has to know what Remus was working up to. And of course, at that point Sirius is pretty certain that Remus must already know the truth, and all he really wants is for Remus to be the one to say it aloud, so it's not Sirius' fault if everything falls apart. The questions were the compromise between Remus pulling the trigger for him, and Sirius having to own up to it himself.

Remus needs Sirius to be all-in, and he doesn't want any doubt in Sirius' mind that this is what he wants. Remus could have texted him the day after his birthday with "Hi Sirius" and Sirius probably would have jumped right in, but that wasn't how Remus wanted it to go. If they were doing this, it couldn't be a fling, and it could never be casual, and it had to be completely, enthusiastically mutual on all fronts. Remus would have waited months more, and he also would have dropped it entirely, if Sirius had asked.

Jesus christ, what was the question again? 😅

Thanks for the message, I hope this is a sufficient answer and I apologise if it is not. This was a great procrastination tool, ngl.

#asked and answered #holy shit i am a LONG-WINDED MOTHERFUCKER #i wrote this instead of working on christmas #which is getting way fucking longer than it has any right to be #like this response

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